


Chaos, Thy Name is Circe

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: Softly and Tenderly, We Begin (Hackle Summer Trope Challenge) [2]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge, Particularly useless lesbians, There's another Hardbroom on the loose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Hecate's sister arrives with some startling news. Inevitably, chaos ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...after stumbling across this idea, I actually read another work (can't remember the name/author), in which HB has a sister named Circe, too. Apparently great minds think alike.  
> No idea how long this ride is going to be. Just hang on, chickadees.

Ada Cackle awoke with a start, her head swimming with confusion. It was so early, why was she awake, what had jolted her into conciousness? Ah, there it was again—the odd rippling sensation, the distinctly magic feeling on her skin.

Hecate and her alarm spells. Someone was trying to enter the castle.

Ada reached out with her magic, trying to discern more. Someone at the front gate. So at least it was someone with proper intentions. There was no malice, only…energy. Wild, magical energy.

With a deep breath to steady herself, Ada flicked her wrist twice—once for more suitable robes, and again to transfer to the front gate.

It took a moment to believe that the person standing in front of her was real. But before she could speak, Hecate Hardbroom had transferred to her side, obviously disturbed by the alarm as well.

“Heck!” The stranger cried out joyously. Ada still couldn’t tear her eyes away. Before her stood a younger Hecate Hardbroom—at least Hecate if she'd decided to roll through a field of flowers and perhaps dash through a bramble. The stranger had the same pale skin and dark features, her hair cut much shorter and styled in large curls which were filled with leaves and baby's breath and…was that just a random twig sticking out? Her attire was also decidedly _not Hecate_ , too: rippling olive green robes with bell sleeves, embroidered with dancing roses.

“What on earth are you doing here?” came Hecate’s response. Quick and shocked but not unkind.

“Well met to you, too,” the stranger returned playfully, her smile as bright and unaffected as ever. “Aren’t you gonna invite me in? Not very proper treatment for your favorite sister.”

“Sister?” Ada turned to her deputy headmistress with wide eyes. Obviously she'd guessed a familial connection, based on their similarities. But Hecate hardly ever spoke of her family, and a sister had never been mentioned at all.

“Yes,” Hecate gave a sigh that nearly devolved into a low growl. “Ada Cackle, meet my sister, Circe.”

* * *

Once Ada officially invited Circe Hardbroom into the Academy, she transferred them all to her office. Her mind was brimming with questions, but her main concern was the look of muted terror on Hecate’s face.

“Are you alright?” She leaned in, keeping her voice low so that Circe couldn’t overhear. Not that she would have—the young witch was exploring the office, _oohing_ and _ahhing_ over the knick knacks and running her fingers over all the book spines, picking things up and turning them over in her hands with the rapt fascination of a raccoon inspecting a shiny pebble.

“I…Circe can be…rather a lot.” Hecate felt like a bumbling idiot, but her words were truthful. She loved her baby sister with a ferocity that bordered on psychotic, but having Circe here, in her safe place, was one of the worst things she could imagine. “I don’t know why she’s here, when she could have just mirrored—”

“I broke my mirror,” Circe piped up from across the room. Ada realized the woman had been listening all along. “Seven years bad luck, and a sliced thumb to boot. But that’s neither here nor there, I suppose. I'm here to congratulate you on your marriage.”

“Marriage?” Hecate sputtered, her eyes the size of saucers. “Circe, have you lost your mind?”

Her younger sister flashed a winning grin—the same one she used to use whenever Hecate was about to reprimand her, the one she knew made her look adorable and mischievous, the one that seemed much more charming when she was three, not thirty-three.

“What have you done?” Hecate felt her stomach sink.

“Nothing, really. Well, nothing that can’t be fixed with a weekend of play-acting—”

“Circe Gevalia Hardbroom,” her elder sister's voice was deathly quiet. “What. Have. You. Done.”

“I had a script, Heck. There were paces, and beats, and a few really good jokes.” Circe made a mock sad face, “Why did you have to ruin it?”

The only sound was the irritated breathing of Hecate Hardbroom, whose entire body was rattling like a teakettle about to whistle. Circe rolled her eyes, her shoulders dropping dramatically as she gave a sigh fit for the most beleaguered of martyrs.

 _So theatrics is a Hardbroom family trait_ , Ada mused. While she shared Hecate’s desire to know what was going on, she also just enjoyed this chance to see another member of the Hardbroom family, to piece together more of the mystery that was distinctly Hecate. If only it didn’t make her potions mistress so anxious.

“Fine. Ruin the plot,” Circe gave a huff and made her way back to the fireplace, plopping into Ada's armchair with little ceremony. “So…Mummy dearest has been on at me again. Continue the family line, push out some more daughters, you know the drill.”

Hecate didn’t know the drill, not really. Her mother had understood her to be a lost cause very early on. Thankfully she'd just pushed her harder in her academics—further the Hardbroom name through success, that had been Hecate’s directive. Still, Hecate nodded, prompting Circe to continue.

“Well, I got sick of it. So I told her that she didn’t have to worry about it anymore because you were getting married.”

“What?”

“I must say, she was a bit hurt that you hadn’t mentioned your beau in your annual letter,” Circe was lazily drawing circles in the fabric of the chair arm. “But don’t worry, I covered for you—”

“Covered for me?” Hecate sputtered, her blood pressure so high that she half expected her own head to pop off.

“Of course. I told her it was a total whirlwind romance. Spur of the moment.”

Ada tried to imagine Hecate Hardbroom doing anything without careful thought and planning. She failed spectacularly.

“And…she believed you?” Hecate obviously shared Ada's incredulity.

“Love makes people do crazy things,” Circe said philosophically.

“Go,” Hecate pointed one perfectly manicured nail towards the door. “Go and fix this mess you've created.”

“Oh, but I already have,” Circe sat up, eyes alight with a new wash of excitement. She leaned forward conspiratorially, her toes tapping the floor with glee, “I found you a husband!”

* * *

_So this is how I die_ , Hecate Hardbroom realized. _Shocked to death by my own sister, whom I have raised since infancy. This is how—_

“Hecate?” A gentle voice broke through her churning thoughts. _Ada_.

She looked down at her headmistress, still in a fog. Ada reached out, set her hand tenderly in the crook of Hecate’s elbow. The worry in that small gesture was enough to jolt Hecate back into action. _Ada is worried, spare her. Show her that you are fine, take care of her._

“I’m…” she searched for the right words. She turned back to her sister, “I’m certain I must have misheard you.”

“Nope!” Circe returned joyfully. “I have found you a man, Heck! And he’s quite sweet. Very smart. And oh what a looker—might have a go at him myself, if I wasn’t so rabidly devoted to a life of abject solitude.”

Now Circe’s dark eyes were dancing with delight. She leaned forward and gave a conspiratorial whisper, “Besides, you two are old friends!”

Ada Cackle thought it was impossible for Hecate’s face to go any paler, and she was wrong. Her deputy was so white, she was almost transparent.

“You didn’t.” Hecate breathed.

“I think you know that I did,” Circe’s grin was almost unnerving. She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “And I must say, he was _quite_ eager at the thought of seeing you again.”

Hecate’s mouth opened, fluttered helplessly, then snapped shut again. Ada knew she was drowning in a tidal wave of emotions, short-circuiting her brain, so she gingerly stepped in, “Miss Hardbroom—”

Both sisters look at her. With a slight smile, she amended, “Miss Circe. I think it’s best that everyone takes a moment to…process this news. We are barely awake yet, and we do have a school to run. Perhaps you can stay a little while longer, and you and your sister can continue this discussion later.”

Circe accepted the offer with a wide grin. Beside her, Ada felt Hecate stiffen further, but apparently she was still too stunned to use words, because she didn’t object.

“You are welcome to wait in my office,” Ada offered a warm smile to the youngest Hardbroom, knowing full well that she couldn’t do any damage in here. After catching students rifling through her things time and again, she’d placed charms over all the important things, so her office was relatively safe.

“Thank you kindly, Miss Cackle,” Circe brandished another winning smile. She was a charmer, Ada could tell—used to getting her way, with her steamroller attitude and pretty features. Briefly, she was thankful that Hecate wasn’t too similar to her sister. If Hecate smiled at her like that, Ada’s silly lovesick heart would give her anything she asked for. Although Hecate was too pure to ask for anything that would ever undermine the school, its girls, or Ada’s authority over it, so maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, if Hecate smiled like that.

Except Ada liked the way Hecate smiled now. Soft and gentle and secretive, like little violets left behind inside the pages of your favorite book.

Hecate currently was not smiling. Given the height of her eyebrows and the thin press of her lips, her brain had nearly shut down completely with shock. While this new development was certainly an interesting way to start the day, Ada’s first and foremost concern was her friend—Hecate needed a moment to think, a moment to breathe, and she seemed incapable of finding it herself, so Ada would help. With a snap of her fingers, the blonde transferred them to the gardens, still grey and dew-filled.

The transfer jolted Hecate back into coherence. “Ada, I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

“It’s obvious that you had no idea she was coming—or what news she was bringing with her,” Ada interrupted gently.

“Yes.” Hecate ducked her head. “That would be a bit of an understatement.”

“Are you alright?” The most important question, the one Ada had been dying to ask, the one she’d feared asking in front of Circe, because she didn’t want her feelings so easily betrayed, especially in front of this relative stranger.

Hecate looked up, expressive eyes locking onto Ada’s, completely unaware of the emotional tremor she sent ripping through her headmistress every time she allowed such vulnerability to shine through. _Hecate Hardbroom, if you knew the power of those eyes, you’d rule the whole world._

“I don’t think so,” she whispered, as if fearful of her own voice. She gave a small shake of her head, looking downward as she tried to gather her thoughts. Still her words tumbled and jumbled as they left her mouth, her pitch rising as her tempo increased, “I don’t want her here, Ada. She’s—she’s a good witch, and a kind soul, but she’s chaos. She doesn’t mean to be, she just is. And she brings it with her. She’s not safe, and this is—Cackle’s is a haven, _should be_ a haven.”

Hecate meant a haven for the girls. Ada suspected that it was also a haven for Hecate herself, whether or not she’d ever admit it.

“I am not concerned in the slightest about the safety of the school,” Ada assured her. “I am concerned about you, and how your sister’s actions will affect—”

“I would never let my personal life interfere with my ability to teach a class,” Hecate stood a bit straighter, as if offended by the thought.

“Hecate, I don’t care about class.” _I care about you, you sweet darling thing._

“Oh.” The potions mistress ducked her head again, as if chastised.

Ada continued, so keenly aware of the eggshells surrounding them. “My only concern is for you. As your friend.”

Hecate felt the familiar stab of agony in her chest. Friend. Of course. Ada was being a good friend, a kind friend, a _loving_ friend—and nothing more. She didn’t _want_ to be anything more. Hecate had always understood that her attraction to Ada was one-sided, but it didn’t lessen the sting of these occasional reminders.

“Of course,” she returned quietly. “And you are a good friend, for worrying. But there’s no need to worry, Ada. The thing about Circe—her saving grace, actually—is that she always has an escape plan.”

“Yes, she seems to have escaped the boiling cauldron by tossing you in instead,” the blonde countered wryly. While she generally kept an open mind when meeting new people, Circe’s effect on Hecate didn’t win her any points in Ada’s book.

This earned her a small hum of amusement. “She’ll have one for me, too. She may see impetuous and off-kilter, but underneath it all, she’s quite clever. And much more practical than she lets on.”

Clever and practical. High praise from Hecate Hardbroom. Ada merely shrugged, knowing how complicated relationships with sisters could be.

“I should probably go back in there,” Hecate sighed. “Find out what she really wants, and what her grand scheme is. Perhaps I can get her out of here before the school day begins.”

As always, Hecate was more concerned about the disruption to the school, rather than her own life being turned upside down. A beat passed, and then, in a small voice, the younger woman asked, “Will you…will you go with me?”

 _Anywhere, anytime, anyplace_ , Ada’s heart promised. But her mouth merely smiled and said, “Of course.”

There was only one tiny issue when they popped back into Ada’s office.

Circe wasn’t there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes do "mental casting" for OCs, and like sharing them with readers. For Circe, think the singularly dynamite Phoebe Waller-Bridge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in the same universe as my previous Hackle Summer Trope Challenge entry, "Survival Skills". You don't have to read it to understand this one, but this chapter does reference events from that story. And I'm just a raging egomaniac who shamelessly promotes her own work, so there's that.

Dimity Drill loved the moments just before dawn. The sky was clear, the air still filled with a heaviness that was comforting rather than stifling, and not even the birds dared to take wing yet—it reminded her of her time as the Star of the Sky. Those nights in the stadium, zipping through the air as the cheers below her became a distant buzz, the inky coolness of the night sky overhead competing with the warm glow of the stadium lights. It had been like living in another world, a world entirely her own.

But the bubble had gotten boring. And lonely. So she’d left it—left it and come home, to the place her mother had taught, to the place she’d honed her skills, the place that had been more of a home to her than the puttering little cottage her parents had kept on the grounds. It was a decision she didn’t regret. Most of the time.

Still. She missed the sky. Flying in the light of day wasn’t the same. It wasn’t as freeing, as magical, as filled with possibility. So most mornings she took her broom out before the sunrise, to clear her mind and start her day with a gentle reminder of just how amazing her life was and could be.

Except she must be behind schedule today. A bird zipped by, almost erratic in its flight, wings beating like its life depended on it. Dimity glanced over her shoulder, confused and slightly concerned. No, the sun was still slowly rising, the first blush of color hadn’t reached the clouds yet. The birds usually kept to their trees until there was a little more light.

Another bird whipped by.

Ok, once was a fluke, twice a coincidence and thrice—

A large raven cawed as it swooped downward, just a few feet from Dimity’s broom. What in great Merlin’s girdle was going on?

She squinted at the skyline, where a small flock of sparrows suddenly shot from a tree, heading back towards the castle.

“Time to investigate, Bippity,” she turned her broom back towards home. Following the increasing number of fowl, she circled over the eastern courtyard, a section that had been practically abandoned for as long as Dimity could remember. Even the groundskeeper didn’t mind the patch—it was overgrown with vines and weeds, becoming the site for at least a dozen ghost stories that the girls often terrified themselves with telling.

But that wasn’t a ghost in the middle of the floral mayhem, arms extended to the sky and face set in an ecstatic expression. It was… _HB_?

Dimity nearly fell off her broomstick, as she craned her neck, trying to get a better look. No…not HB, but at first glance...

She brought the broom down for a landing, and the other woman didn’t seem to notice her at all—not surprising, since her eyes were closed and her face was upturned towards the approaching dawn. Birds of every shape and size swirled overhead in a counter-clockwise whirl, and small creatures scurried and cavorted through the tangled vines and dead leaves. The small courtyard pulsed with magic, as if it were a living being itself.

 _Thank heavens Gulllet’s gone_ , Dimity thought. _We’d never hear the end of all the health and safety violations going on here._

“Excuse me,” Dimity raised her voice to be heard over the birds. She clutched her broom in one hand and readied a defense spell in the other.

The stranger startled, looking over at her with wide eyes. However, her surprise quickly melted to delight, “Well, hello there!”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted to ask—who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”

“Circe Hardbroom, well met,” the stranger never moved from her position, never lowered her arms, not even a fraction of an inch. “Would you like to greet the dawn with me?”

Hardbroom? This had to be a joke.

“Yes, Hardbroom,” Circe read the incredulity on Dimity’s face. “Heck’s younger sister. Her favorite one—OK, well, her _only_ one, but still even if there were others, I’m pretty sure I’d still be her favorite. Sometimes you just know these things, you know?”

“Right.” Dimity gave a cautious smile. It was hard to imagine that HB would look upon this untamed display of magic and be pleased. Circe was basically everything that HB tried to ground out of the girls at Cackle’s—Dimity could sense that, just ten seconds after meeting her.

“So, you gonna greet the dawn or what?” Circe turned her face back to the sky, closing her eyes and smiling.

“I’ve never done a dawn greeting ritual before,” Dimity admitted. That was green magic—mainly used by wizards and witches who preferred to shun covens and conventional practice in favor of nature and solitude. Old school stuff, usually looked down upon by polite magical society.

“Oh, it’s easy.” Circe assured her. “You literally just greet the dawn. Release your magic, call to nature, and thank her for all that she gives.”

“Well, I see nature definitely answered the call,” Dimity shuffled around to get a better look at all the wildlife leaping and slithering through the overgrown courtyard. Her broomstick rustled, and she saw a small field mouse climbing between the bristles, “Oy! Leave Bippity alone!”

“Bippity?” This piqued Circe’s interest, and she turned to look at Dimity again.

“Bippity Boppity Broom,” Dimity held up her broom in explanation. The movement was enough to dislodge the mouse, who scurried forward and buried itself in the folds of Circe’s robes. She didn’t seem to notice.

“You named your broom?”

“Always have. Helps me remember to treat them with respect and dignity. They may not be sentient, but they are a magical being, in a way,” Dimity pulled Bippity closer, protective of both her broom and her ideology. Oh yes, she’d been taken to task more than once about her sentimentality. But without a broom, she never could have done half the things she’d accomplished in her life.

“That’s really lovely,” Circe admitted. Her smile was genuine—not exactly the reaction that Dimity was accustomed to, when it came to talking about her brooms.

“Thank you,” Dimity meant her words. With a nod towards the sky, she added, “I’ll try this…dawn greeting, if you don’t mind the intrusion.”

“Seeing as I’m the one intruding on your school, I think I’ll manage,” Circe said dryly. Dimity sat beside her, mimicking her posture and trying to do as she’d been instructed.

_Release your magic, call to nature…_

Oh sweet Morgan le Fay. Something was crawling into her lap. She looked down, filling with relief to see it was only a bunny.

“That one might nibble on your toes,” Circe warned, never glancing over. “Just ignore him and he’ll go away.”

Dimity really hoped she was joking.

“But do keep an eye on him. We’ll need him for the sacrifice.”

“What?!”

Circe exploded into laughter, still never dropping her hands, which now had snakes twining around them. “It’s just a joke! I would never bring harm to any creature—besides only dark magic requires blood, surely you know that.”

“I do know that,” Dimity retorted quickly, feeling a little foolish. “But I don’t know _you_.”

“Of course you do. I’m Hecate’s sister. What better recommendation is there?”

Yeah, that actually wasn’t a good recommendation at all, in Dimity’s book. Cackle’s resident Addams Family member wasn’t exactly the lightest, sweetest witch to grace their hallowed halls—hell, it was a miracle when she remembered to be civil to the other staff. However, HB was at least predictable in her sourness, whereas this younger sister was…definitely _not_ predictable.

Dimity briefly wondered what HB would have to say about this.

“Miss Drill!” A shrill voice ripped through the peaceful chitter chatter of animals.

Welp, looked like Dimity would soon have an answer on that. She opened her eyes, dropping her arms like a guilty child caught sneaking sweets. HB and Miss Cackle stood a few feet away, both agog at the sight before them.

Circe made a small sound of delighted surprise, then turned her attention back to Dimity, “I’ve only just realized that I never asked your name! How thoughtless of me.”

“Yes,” HB growled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Thoughtlessness seems to be a rather _particular_ habit of yours, these days.”

“It’s Dimity. Dimity Drill,” the flying instructor leaned forward, keeping her voice low.

“An absolute pleasure to meet you,” Circe beamed, completely unperturbed by her elder sister, who was still fuming.

“A meeting that should never have occurred,” Hecate hissed, taking a step forward, and then stopping herself. She’d seen it, the brief flash in Circe’s eyes, and she known exactly where her baby sister had gone—back to their parents’ house, back to the yelling and the stern voices and the constant physical looming over their much smaller selves. That threat that was never spoken, never actualized, but always, always there. So she took a small breath and changed her tone, “You should have stayed in the office, Circe. You are not authorized to wander the school grounds. There could have been—”

“There’s no harm done, Hecate,” Ada reminded her. With a slight smile at Circe, she added, “Besides, we’ve found her, and now we can go back and continue our conversation.”

She saw Hecate’s fists clench, knew those long nails were biting into the flesh of her palm, trying to release some anger before speaking again. As always, her tone was schooled by the time she found it, “Of course, Miss Cackle. An excellent suggestion.”

Without further ado, Hecate whipped her hand over her head and transferred herself, her sister, and her headmistress, leaving a slightly shell-shocked Dimity Drill in her wake.

The birds overhead began to disperse. Dimity’s lap bunny scampered away. She felt a slight sadness at the loss.

“Come back and see me, will ya?” She called after it, knowing full well he wouldn’t. The male of any species was generally untrustworthy in that regard.

* * *

 Circe gave a little giggle as they popped back into the headmistress’ office. Ada realized that a snake had transferred with them, slithering around Circe’s wrist in a slightly disoriented fashion.

“Oh, Heck, you should have given me a moment to make sure it was just me,” Circe gave her flowing skirt a light shake, and a field mouse scurried out. Pendle, Ada’s familiar, gave a feline chirp of delight and streaked forward.

“Bad kitty!” Circe raised her hand, the tone of her voice filled with seriousness. Pendle stopped immediately, sitting back on his haunches to look at her with soulful eyes, as if her words had struck him to the core. Circe vanished the poor mouse away and then crouched before him, her tone as serious as death, “I don’t think you’re a bad cat, really, I don’t. I know it’s simply your nature—but you must really try to do better. Good kitty, bad actions. Let’s remedy that next time, shall we?”

Ada watched the entire scene, completely transfixed. Hecate’s eyes rolled so far back into her head that she could see her cerebellum.

“Right,” Circe popped back onto her feet, dusting her hands off as if she’d just performed a great feat. Then, as if noticing the snake around her wrist for the first time, she frowned slightly before vanishing it as well. “Where were we?”

“I believe we were at the part where you explain how I get out of this impending… _marriage_ ,” Hecate baulked on the last word, as if it physically gagged her to even say it.

“Right, of course,” Circe gave a curt nod. “All we have to do is go home for a weekend, let the family see that you’re all happy and in love and just moments away from starting a new line of Hardbrooms. Then after a few months, you can just inform them that it’s over.”

 “A few months?” Hecate’s eyebrows shot skyward yet again.

“Heck, you don’t have to see him the whole time,” Circe rolled her eyes at her sister’s dramatic response. “Just for the weekend. After that you can go your separate ways and never speak again.”

“And everyone involved is… _content_ with this situation?” Hecate chose her words as carefully as possible. She was keenly aware of Ada’s presence at her side, she could feel the blonde’s curiosity simmering like a cauldron.

“Everyone except you,” her younger sister corrected.

Ada knew her eyes were the size of saucers, but she really couldn’t help it. During her tenure as headmistress, she’d seen some crazy things go down in this office, but this one might take the cake. Not only did Hecate’s never-before-mentioned sister show up, with a marriage proposal that sounded like something out of those ridiculous novels that Drill liked to read—but Hecate was _actually_ listening to the idea. Even more, she was actually _considering_ it.

Hecate ducked her head, turned on her heel, and began to pace. Slow, measured steps, to balance out the frenetic whirring of her mind.

She didn’t like this. Didn’t like the feeling it caused in her gut, the uneasy churning that sent waves of discomfort through her skin. Didn’t like feeling trapped, pulled into something against her will—the thought of her sister arranging all of this without so much as a by-your-leave also didn’t sit well. But that was Circe, impetuous as always. A trait that was Hecate’s fault, in some ways, for indulging her so much during her childhood. A fault she was certainly paying for now, in spades.

As for her fiancé—she knew Circe was referring to their old childhood friend, Maximillian Spellborne. He and Hecate had attended primary school together, and their family homes had been close, so summer breaks had been spent tumbling through the open fields between their two houses, attempting little spells with limited success, and scheming over how they’d grow up to be so important that their parents couldn’t boss them around anymore. That felt like a different lifetime entirely. He had been a kind boy, inquisitive and sensitive and one of the only children who’d been her friend. They’d gone off to their separate boarding schools, still seeing each other over term breaks. But once they reached university levels, the meet-ups became less and less, and then one day, they simply stopped. Nothing awful had happened between them, like her and Pippa. Just life.

She wouldn’t mind seeing him again, seeing how far he’d come—she knew he’d done well, had heard his name at a conference or two, had seen his name mentioned in a few articles. But the circumstances bringing them back into each other’s orbit were certainly less than ideal.

Still. If he was game, then she could do it, too. She could do anything she put her mind to, really.

A weekend wouldn’t hurt. Although she hated the thought of taking the time off—she hated leaving the Academy at all during the term, afraid of what might happen to the girls without one more adult witch to protect them. And she understood Circe’s desire to be free of Mother’s harping. Despite holding little maternal feeling, Mrs. Hardbroom still had a deep and abiding commitment to the family name and its continued social ascent. She’d pushed all five children to do more than succeed—to _dominate_ , to bring honor back to the family name, to do all things for the betterment of their social standing.

That intense focus had been aimed at her, full-force, quite often during her teens and early twenties. But with each success, each published paper or each awarded grant for research, the intensity decreased. Finally, after lecturing at the European Craft Symposium and landing the prestigious deputy headmistress position at Cackle’s, Mother had stopped entirely, feeling moderately satisfied with her eldest daughter’s accomplishments and certain that Hecate had the ability to continue striving without constant reminders. Which had meant the burden fell to her brothers and Circe. The last brother had been married just a few years ago, which further narrowed Mother’s focus to Circe. Her last remaining daughter and the only other option for continuing the Hardbroom Matriarchy.

She glanced over at her younger sister—the sixteen-year difference between them had ensured that Hecate saw her as more of a daughter than a sister. And in many ways, she had been more of a mother to Circe than their own. There were three brothers born between them, and by the time Circe arrived, Mother was exhausted and finally fulfilled, having given the Hardbroom line two daughters to continue it. She simply didn’t have any energy—or any love, it often seemed—left to give. So it had fallen upon Hecate to bathe and clothe Circe, to teach her rhyming chants and the names of different herbs, to curl herself protectively around that smaller body when the nightmares came, to kiss her forehead and smooth her hair and pinch the tip of her nose in adoration. Circe had been a safe place for Hecate to pour all of her love and devotion into, something to give life meaning, someone to love and love and love without condition or fear of rejection.

The love was still there, always. As was the desire to protect.

She would do anything for Circe. They both knew that. Even now, as Hecate debated the idea in her mind, her sister’s face was serene and expectant. Hecate would save her, as always.

The idea of failing her—of disappointing that face, which still held traces of the small and uncertain child who’d so easily dominated Hecate’s affection and attention above all others—was too much. With a soft, sad smile, Hecate agreed, “I’ll do it. For you, Kirk.”

Hearing her old nickname made Circe’s face radiate with joy.

“Oh, _thank_ you, Heck! You really are the best!” Circe leaped to her, enveloping her in a hug. “And don’t worry, you won’t regret it—”

“A bit late to make that promise,” Hecate intoned dryly. Circe gave a rippling giggle, planting a loud, sloppy kiss on her cheek in response.

Ada was absolutely fascinated by this exchange. Usually whenever someone tried to make physical contact with Hecate Hardbroom, the woman froze up, receiving a hug as if it were an insult. But she opened her arms to Circe with easy familiarity, her hand gently running up and down her sister’s spine in a quick moment of comforting, eyes closed and face perfectly happy, if only for an instant.

Ada tried not to be envious. She tried to look away. She failed on both counts.

Hecate’s eyes opened again, and she seemed embarrassed when she caught Ada watching. She stepped back, clearing her throat slightly as Circe pulled away, too. Her mind was swimming with so many questions that she didn’t know how to marshal them into coherence. “So…what…should, should I—”

“Mirror him.” From seemingly nowhere, Circe produced a card. “I think he should come see you, before you go—you have a lot to catch up on, to build your story before you face the parental inquisition.”

Hecate gave a slight smile at the quip. Then she frowned, “I find it odd that you reached out to him, before you told me.”

“I knew I had to have everything arranged before I spoke to you—I couldn’t give you any excuse to say no.”

The elder Hardbroom hummed in amusement. Her sister knew her too well. She looked down at the mirror card, her thumb gently brushing over the details inscribed upon it. “It’s been twenty…no, probably thirty years since I’ve seen Maximillian.”

 _Maximillian_ , Ada tucked the name into her memory. She, too, had so many questions, and although now was not the time, she needed to garner as much information as she could before asking them, later on.

“How did you find him?” Hecate asked, eyes flicking back up to her sister with slight suspicion.

“I get around, Hecate. Not all of us spend our days drifting around damp old castles.” With a flash of a smile at Ada, Circe added, “Although this one is quite lovely, Miss Cackle.”

Ada merely smiled. Circe returned her attention to her sister, tapping the mirror card with her index finger. “He’s expecting your call. _Eagerly awaiting_ it, I’d say.”

“Circe—”

“Oh, don’t be so stuffy about it. With a situation like this, you can’t help but have a little fun.”

The distinct curl of her elder sister’s lip disagreed. “Seeing as I am the one who actually has to deal with this situation, perhaps I should decide how much _fun_ is being had.”

“Right. Whatever you say, Heck,” Circe gave her sister a quick peck on the cheek. “I must be off, then. Don’t want to disrupt your day any more than absolutely necessary. By the way, do you have a broom I could borrow?”

“What happened to yours?”

“Oh, I crashed it into a tree on the way—I got a bit distracted by the beauty of the stars, and you know how it is—”

With a heavy sigh and a snap of her fingers, Hecate produced a broomstick, which she handed to her sister. “Just go. And try not to wreck this one.”

“You know me—so, no promises,” Circe winked, leaning in to give her elder sister one last squeeze. Then she crouched down and made a kissing noise, which brought Pendle back to her, black tail flickering in curiosity. “I am sorry if I insulted you earlier, dear chap. I’m sure you’re quite the finest of cats.”

Pendle brushed against her leg, apparently forgiving her. Then with one last dashing smile, Circe motioned one of the windows open, hopped aboard her borrowed broom and breezed out the window like a shot.

Hecate gave a deep, full body sigh, her shoulders slinking downward. Ada stayed rooted to her spot, silently aching to bridge the distance between them and offer some form of comfort, or at the very least make sure she was alright.

It was Hecate who broke the silence, “Some tea, Miss Cackle?”

With a flutter of her fingers, she magicked a tea service onto the coffee table. Ada didn’t point out that it was a bit early in the morning for tea—instead, she nodded and moved to her usual spot in her armchair. Hecate woodenly followed, taking her usual seat as well.

There was so much to say, to explain and apologize for, to process and plan. But right now, all Hecate wanted was this: Ada and the quiet comfort her presence always gave, the small mundane sounds of tea cups clinking and spoons stirring, the things that didn’t need questions because they already had answers ( _cream for me, two sugars for you, a dash of lemon, just because_ ). This small moment with this woman, to smooth the jagged edges and frayed nerves.

Ada seemed to understand (of course she did, she always did), because she didn’t offer any words as she fixed a cuppa and handed it to her deputy.

Over the rims of her glasses, she watched as Hecate took a sip, closed her eyes and tilted her face heavenward. By now she was so accustomed to the younger woman's theatrics that she hardly even noticed them—but this, this quiet sadness and its brave attempts to blend back into stoicism, was truly worrying. Hecate always was a bit backwards, in that regard. She exploded with emotion over the slightest of things and buried the deeper issues beneath a layer of supreme indifference.

“I do realize we have to discuss this, eventually,” Hecate drawled, eyes still closed, as if she were too embarrassed to look Ada in the face. “But I don’t think I'm quite ready.”

Ada made a small noise of assurance, finding too many things to say and no proper way to say them. _Take your time, take all the time you need, you don’t owe me anything, please just come back to me, please be alright_.

Hecate didn’t have to ask her not to tell the rest of the staff. That was understood—over the years, they'd shared their fair share of secrets, although most centered around the school and their roles within it. This was certainly far more personal, and Ada cherished it more dearly. She knew something about Hecate that hardly anyone else knew. She had something more, something just between them.

 _Ada Cackle, what a pitiful thing you are_ , she mentally chided herself. _Your closest friend has just had her whole world rearranged, and you’re gloating over the fact that you’re a part of the secret, like that is some kind of true intimacy._

Pathetic? Absolutely. Able to change the way she felt? Absolutely not.

“Thank you,” Hecate’s voice gently broke into her thoughts.

“For what?”

The potions mistress gave a vague wave around the room, “For…everything. I’m too exhausted to even think of it all.”

They hadn’t even been awake for an hour, and Hecate’s face was as wan and drawn as if she’d finished the longest day of her life. With another deep sigh, she cupped her forehead in her hand, her voice etched with tired concern, “This is ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Ada knew what she really meant— _I am ridiculous, arent I? A fool, an idiot, incompetent and not in control, all my deepest fears come true._ Hecate Hardbroom had a reputation for being a bit prideful, but Ada knew her actions usually came from fear. Fear of failure, fear of being seen as weak or vulnerable or otherwise incompetent. That deep desire to avoid ridicule and its subsequent inability to handle it came from a past spent being chastised for her mistakes, for all her shortcomings real and imagined. Ada had seen it countless times, in various students over the years.

But this wasn’t just some teary-eyed girl sitting in her office. This was _Hecate_. Her rock, her softest secret, her strongest friend. Still, the medicine was much the same, with perhaps a dash more kindness than usual. She leaned forward, adding a conspiratorial tone to her words, “You are doing something out of love for your sister. There isn’t a single thing ridiculous about that.”

“Not even faking a fiancé?” Hecate looked up through splayed fingers, still clutching her head.

“I’m sure he’s quite lovely,” Ada smiled warmly.

“He is. Or, at least he was.” Reality finally hit, truly and deeply. She sat up straight, face filled with alarm. “Oh, Ada, what have I done? I don’t even—”

 _I don’t even like men!_ That was what she'd almost blurted out, but thankfully she had enough presence of mind to stop herself. She feared that the confession still rattled around her face, as plain to read as words upon paper. What would Ada say, if she knew? Would she also guess the rest—her attraction to one woman in particular?

“You don’t have to do it, you know,” Ada reminded her, knowing full well that the deed was as good as done.

As expected, Hecate shook her head. “No, I’ve given my word, Ada. To my sister, no less. It may seem silly, doing all of this just to avoid a few months of listening to your mother complain, but…”

The younger witch trailed off, her dark eyes sliding away, looking into the empty and unlit fireplace. Ada held her breath and waited. Her patience paid off—after a few beats, Hecate blinked and quietly added, “My mother is not the most…bearable of beings. She can be quite tenacious, when it comes to getting what she wants.”

 _Sounds familiar_ , Ada thought wryly. Oh, when Hecate had first joined the staff, she’d been an absolute terror. Obstinate beyond fault, so uncompromising that she’d actually made one of the groundskeepers quit, due to her strict rules on how exactly the school’s greenhouse should be tended. Over the years she’d mellowed considerably, and even now, she still wasn’t renowned for being easy-going or adaptable to change. But she’d come to trust Ada and her judgment, and that trust had turned into an infallible loyalty that Ada couldn’t imagine living without. Sure, there were still disagreements, but not nearly as much vehemence behind them, and more often than not, Hecate accepted Ada’s decisions with a simple nod—a sign of her loyalty, a testament to her faith in Ada, a confidence that had been an anchor in troubled waters for at least a decade now.

 _We’re both mellower now_ , she realized. In the early days, Ada had still felt the need to prove herself, to always win, to _be_ the headmistress in all things and ways. She couldn’t let things go, couldn’t lose even the smallest of battles, and that obstinacy had been easily matched by the newly-minted potions mistress. But over the years, she’d learned Hecate’s personality, what to pay attention to, and what to graciously overlook. She’d learned Hecate’s heart, and found it to be pure and invested only in the best interest of the school and its students. She’d learned that sometimes, being right wasn’t as important as being kind, and that sometimes, it was OK to let someone else take the win.

She’d also fallen hopelessly in love with the woman sitting across from her, but she refused to consider whether or not that had helped soften how she handled her.

Pendle pattered across the room on silent paws, coming to stop expectantly at Hecate’s feet. When she didn’t acknowledge him, he reached out, lightly catching the edge of her skirt with his claws and giving a delicate tug.

Hecate snapped from her reverie, glancing down and letting a smile spread across her face.

“Oh, alright,” she muttered good-naturedly. With a snap of her fingers, Morgana, her own sleek black familiar, appeared in her lap. The cat was completely unfazed by the transfer spell, having experienced it countless times before. Upon seeing Pendle, Morgana leaped to the floor and the two cats nuzzled each other in greeting. Hecate reached down, taking a moment to stroke each one.

“Spoiled rotten things,” her voice was laden with affection. The cats made no attempt to deny the accusation, instead butting their heads against her ankle in a demand for more attention.

Ada knew she was smiling like an idiot at the scene before her, but she didn’t care. Hecate was too absorbed with the cats to notice, her face soft and unguarded.

Oh, to be able to start each day exactly like this—and to end it the same. Ada shook her head at her silly wishful thoughts. The school bells chimed, calling the girls to rise and start their day. With a light sigh, Hecate set her teacup back on the tray, delicately checking the timepiece around her neck out of ingrained habit (as if perhaps the bells could be wrong, as if she didn’t quite trust them—an action that would have irritated Ada ten years ago but now seemed oddly endearing).

“And so it begins,” Hecate intoned dramatically. This earned her another wry smile from her headmistress, and she didn’t stop her own mouth from twisting in amusement, too. _Be calm, for Ada. Show her that it’s all back to normal, that it’s all fine. She has enough stress in her life, without your hysterics adding to it. Make her smile again—and try not to look like a lovestruck school girl when she does smile at you, you absolute idiot._

She glanced down at their familiars, and not for the first time, felt a pang of envy. The cats would spend all day lounging around the office, sharing an armchair or a warm spot in the sun, curling up in easy affection that no one judged or even really noticed. If only it were that simple for their owners. If only Hecate could sit next to Ada and curl herself around the blonde, without need for explanation or questions or fear.

 _Wish in one hand, spit in the other. See which one fills up faster._ Her mother’s voice, sharp and unbidden, cut into her musings. It was enough to jolt her into action.

“Well, I suppose I have wasted enough of your morning, Ada,” Hecate rose to her feet, infusing her tone with a lightness that she didn’t truly feel.

There was a sudden ripple of magic through both of them, and they stopped, taking a beat to look at each other.

“Hubble’s up to something again,” Hecate decreed. In an instant, she disappeared.

Ada gave a good-natured sigh. So far, it seemed things were already back to normal.

* * *

The Hubble-based crisis was a relatively mild one, and Hecate transferred both herself and the wayward young witch into the dining hall as soon as it was sorted. Mildred scurried off to her friends and Hecate took her place at the head table, where Dimity Drill was grinning like a cheshire cat.

Oh, this couldn’t be good. Anything that made Drill grin like that was sure to spell a massive headache for Hecate.

“Where’s your sister, HB?”

“Gone, never to return.” Hecate took her seat, giving her napkin a crisp snap before setting it in her lap. “May this topic of conversation meet the same fate.”

Drill summarily ignored the implied command. “I thought she was quite crafty.”

 _You would_ , Hecate inwardly growled. She knew Drill was just needling her, and she tried not to take the bait.

“I didn’t even know you had a sister,” Dimity admitted.

“I wish you still didn’t know,” HB returned dryly, fingers delicately picking up a piece of toast to inspect.

“Must have been something important, to bring her here,” Dimity was fishing, shamelessly so.

“This conversation is not happening, Drill.” Fingers tossed the toast back onto the platter as if it had uttered a vile insult.

“Hecate.” Dimity leaned forward, reaching out to place a hand over HB's as she stage whispered, “We’ve slept together. There are no secrets left between us.”

It would be cruel to laugh at HB's scarlet blush or the way she choked on thin air, so Dimity suppressed her mirth into a smile, ducking her head so the others wouldn’t see. It had been weeks since they'd taken the third year girls on a pathfinding trip—they'd been stuck in the woods overnight, which had forced the two women to curl up together for warmth. It hadn’t gone beyond the most innocent of situations, but Dimity knew there was still shock value in the phrase—and the fact that technically, HB couldn’t deny it.

There had been two distinct things that was never mentioned again: the fact that by morning, HB was snuggled up to Dimity (a detail that Dimity had never confessed, not even to HB, knowing it would be too embarrassing for the woman), and the fact that Dimity had pointed out HB’s affection for one certain headmistress, which HB hadn’t denied.

That certain headmistress was currently seated on the opposite side of HB, and she’d overheard the quip as well, because Dimity could see her shoulders hitch in a hidden giggle. Her sparkling blue eyes cut towards Dimity in silent warning, _Don’t push too far, dear._

Dimity merely gave a soft smile of agreement. For what must have been the hundredth time, she thought about how impossible it seemed, that these two bright and brilliant witches could be so damn dense. Even a blind woman could see the affection simmering between them, the thousand little ways that they protected each other with a fierce loyalty that spoke to the depth of their friendship, the thousand little glances that betrayed how much more than friends they were and wanted to be.

HB had recovered enough to glower at the flying instructor. Her left eye gave a slight twitch.

Dimity smiled smoothly, arching her eyebrows. _Maybe you should remember to be a little more polite at the breakfast table, sweetie._

HB apparently took the hint, because she returned to her breakfast with a miffed air.

 _Grumpy cat has arrived._ Dimity had taken to envisioning HB as a perpetually pissed off cat—it actually made it much easier to deal with the woman’s moodiness. Also, it made Dimity smile, which seemed to only piss off HB further (an added bonus).

“Miss Drill, have you given any more thought to the next pathfinding trip?” Miss Cackle easily changed conversation, taking a piece of toast from the platter in the middle of the table. Wordlessly, HB slid the jam jar closer to her. The kind of small interaction Dimity would see when visiting her parents, who’d been quietly and happily married for decades.

“Not really, Miss Cackle,” Dimity answered. “Now that the girls know it’s going to be more a challenge, it’s harder to choose a spot that’s still going to throw them for a loop.”

“Perhaps a weekend in the mountains would be in order.” Miss Cackle glanced down the long table. “Though this time, perhaps you should take Miss Gimlett.”

Dimity followed her gaze, to the botany mistress. The woman certainly looked more up to the task than HB, who would certainly still insist on wearing heeled boots and being generally unhappy about the whole event.

However, HB looked slightly concerned at the suggestion, “As loathe as I am to take such a trip, Miss Cackle, I think perhaps it’s best if I do—if anything were to happen—”

“I think you will be busy that weekend,” Cackle gave her a meaningful look.

Ooh. This just got interesting. Dimity watched the silent exchange with rapt fascination. HB raised her eyebrows slightly, obviously aware of Cackle’s meaning, then gave a slight shrug of her shoulder, returning to her breakfast with such intense concentration that one would think it was another of her potions. Cackle took a beat to simply watch her, eyes tracing the outline of HB’s face, before resuming her breakfast as well.

What would be so important that it kept HB from ruining a perfectly good trip? Dimity felt her brain buzzing with curiosity. But no more hints were given, and soon it was time to start the morning classes. However, Dimity Drill made a quiet promise to herself to solve this new mystery.

And maybe also tease HB a few more times about sleeping together. Sometimes you just had to.


	3. Chapter 3

_Deep breath, and then another. Think calm, think cool, think collected. Think and it shall be as you think it. You can do all things, so long as you believe._

Hecate bowed her head one last time, wiping her hands down the front of her dress. For once, she’d been grateful for the girls’ antics and accidents, which had kept her busy and sufficiently distracted for most of the day. But now the day was done, the girls all gone to dinner and the rest of the world quiet and waiting.

Waiting. Like Maximillian.

She paced again, her heels echoing against the stone walls of her private rooms.

_Stop quibbling, Hecate. Get it over with._

She moved towards the mirror, then stopped, took a jerky half-step in another direction before turning back around and sitting resolutely on the small stool before her vanity, which was littered with books and a mortar filled with half-crushed herbs, its pestle somewhere beneath a scroll or ream of papers. Organized chaos, her specialty.

Still, not the best image. With a flutter of her fingers, she sent the books back to their respective shelves and tables, the pestle reappearing and floating back into the mortar. Using the mirror for practical purposes, she cast a critical eye over her reflection.

No amount of magic could remove the dark circles under her eyes, or the genuine look of terror in her expression. A quick cooling spell helped bring down the redness in her cheeks, and a drying spell removed the sweat from her brow and her hands.

_Really, Hecate, you are ridiculous._

Pressing her lips into a thin line of determination, she took the mirror card that Circe had given her and tapped it against the pane. She had to remind herself to breathe as the glass rippled with magic, bringing forward a face she hadn’t seen in decades.

In an instant, her nerves dissipated at the sight of Maximillian, who was beaming with absolute delight.

“Hecate Hardbroom, incredibly well met!” His voice was deeper, more mature, but even through the wrinkles, the young boy of yesteryear shone through.

Hecate found herself grinning, “Well met, Maximillian Spellborne.”

“It’s been quite a while.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” She’d dread this, the small talk, the attempts to find common ground again, to somehow recapture the childish friendship of a lifetime ago. But now that the moment was here, it was so easy, so natural and comfortable that she wondered why she’d ever worked herself into a frenzy over it.

_Because you’re an overdramatic idiot, Hecate Hardbroom, that’s why._

“Your sister is quite the schemer,” he was grinning again (truly, he hadn’t stopped since the call had begun).

A small, sharp laugh escaped her. “Yes, quite. She arrived this morning—well before sunrise, might I add—to drop this bombshell.”

“I hope I wasn’t too forward in agreeing to help,” his tone softened into one of concern. “I just…it seemed like a good excuse to see you again, and to visit home, even if only for a day or two.”

So he didn’t go home often, either. Not surprising. Their family lives had been remarkably similar.

“And besides, Circe doesn’t exactly take no for an answer.”

Hecate hummed in agreement. “I’m afraid we’re all hapless pawns in her game. And thank you, by the way, for agreeing to be such a pawn.”

“Like I said, it seemed too good to pass up.” He gave a winning smile, and for once, Hecate’s stomach didn’t clench in disgust, like it did whenever a man dared to attempt charm on her. “So how shall we play our fake engagement? Being old friends will certainly help—heaven knows our mothers had hoped for this day, more than once during our youth.”

Oh, wasn’t that the truth. The Spellbornes were old and prominent, but had only produced wizards for two generations, weakening the line. The Hardbrooms were a younger lineage, but with more power and a stronger penchant for producing witches. Mrs. Spellborne was eager to add such power to her bloodline, and Mrs. Hardbroom was equally desperate to pull her own further up the social ladder. Hecate suspected that was one of the only reasons she’d been allowed to go outside and play during the summers—playing was considered a frivolous activity, but if it was strengthening a bond with a Spellborne heir, then it was beneficial and therefore encouraged.

And now she was actively choosing to walk back into her mother’s machinations.

_Circe, you should never doubt my love for you._

“Perhaps I can come visit, before we go home,” Maximillian’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Give us some time to truly catch up, map out a battle plan.”

Battle plan. An apt description for how they were going to handle this delicate situation. Hecate found herself nodding in agreement. “I’m not sure how I will be able to get away, but—”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Hecate. I know it’s mid-term and you can’t just whisk away from school for days on end. I'll come to you.”

She blanched at the thought. Oh, goddess. Maximilian roaming the halls, seeing her like this (too much like her mother), her old life set loose among her current. Chaos, destruction, weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth. And Felicity Foxglove, jotting it all down for her damnable little _blog_.

No. That simply wouldn’t do.

And she said as much, adding, “I wouldn’t want the distraction, to the students.”

“Or the gossip it would bring?” He gave a sly grin, and she knew he’d read her like a book. Just like old times.

She smiled as well, “A group of young girls don’t need much encouragement when it comes to making up fanciful tales. I'd prefer not to feed the beast.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “Alright then, how shall we manage it?”

She considered the question for a moment. Then with a slight nod of self-agreement, she said, “You can still come, just not to the school. There’s a village, about a half mile away. I’ll arrange for you to stay there.”

“Tucked away in a charming little inn, Hecate Hardbroom’s dirty little secret,” he teased. “I like it.”

* * *

Ada Cackle couldn’t sleep (entirely true). Sometimes walking around the castle helped (also true). And she absolutely did not plan her path, so she just happened to walk past Hecate’s private quarters entirely by coincidence (perhaps not so true).

She stopped for a moment, when she saw the thin line of light underneath the door. Hecate was still awake. That wasn’t particularly surprising, given that it wasn’t that late—the girls had just gone to bed, and most of the staff were still moving about, grading papers or tidying up classrooms, or at least unwinding with a good book or a small glass of sherry.

Still, she worried. Hecate had excused herself from dinner, and Ada had guessed it was so that she could mirror her new faux fiancé. But she’d fully expected to see her once the evening bells had rung—Hecate usually made a round through the girls’ sleeping corridors, her presence silently ensuring that they readied for bed in a timely and well-behaved manner. It didn’t happen every evening, but often enough that Ada had expected it to happen tonight.

The potions mistress hadn’t appeared. Normally, Ada wouldn’t worry—Hecate could easily get absorbed in a new textbook or potion brewing, losing track of time entirely (the timepiece around her neck had been a good-natured but slightly pointed gift from Ada, back when she’d asked her to become deputy head)—but given the events of the morning, she felt a slight wave of concern.

Perhaps she should just check in.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, but a sound from the other side stopped her.

Hecate Hardbroom. Laughing. Laughing in an easy, unencumbered way, the kind of deep laugh that comes from the belly, the kind that Ada couldn’t ever remember hearing from her deputy head.

Was she still talking to the mysterious Maximillian? Ada took another half-step forward and then stopped herself. Was she really about to put her ear against the door, eavesdrop on her deputy headmistress, out of idle curiosity?

_No_ , Ada told herself firmly, ducking her head and pushing her legs to put as much distance between herself and Hecate’s door as possible. _You wanted to know if she was alright, and obviously she is—better than alright, given the fact that she’s laughing in a way that you’ve never been able to make her laugh._

Not for the first time today, Ada Cackle realized there were parts of Hecate Hardbroom that she simply didn’t know at all. There was curiosity behind the thought, but also fear.

However, she pushed both aside and retired to her study. Pendle and Morgana were streaking around the room, causing mild havoc as they knocked things over, chasing each other across Ada’s desk, around the chairs and under the coffee table.

Ada didn’t scold them. Usually, she would. And Hecate would berate her ( _they’re only cats, Ada, let them be_ ). They seemed to be the only beings worthy of leniency, in Hecate’s book. Possibly because she had more in common with them than most humans.

With a light sigh, Ada sat at her desk, determined to busy herself with paperwork. The cats noticed her arrival and pounced on her desk again, vying for her attention and affection as they batted at her hands and butted their heads on her chin.

Spoiled rotten things, indeed. Still, she obliged, scooping Pendle into her lap while keeping her other hand free to stroke Morgana. Two sets of happy purrs filled the quiet office. Ada tilted her head forward, letting Morgana nuzzle her forehead. It seemed she couldn’t escape reminders of Hecate—not entirely surprising, since the woman was as much a part of the academy as Ada herself. There was probably a memory in every room of this castle.

Even the dungeons, Ada thought wryly. There had been one winter break that Hecate had spent an entire day scrounging through the records in the dungeons, trying to find some old document that would help the history mistress at the time. It was freezing down there, Hecate had been so absorbed in her task that she hadn’t even noticed (she’d gotten a nasty cold that had lasted throughout the break and well into the spring term). Hecate had always been an excellent researcher, her meticulous nature at its best form, and at first, Ada had assumed her devotion to the task was merely scholarly in nature. Ada had gone down to check on her after Hecate had missed both lunch and dinner, to find the shivering witch hunched over a stack of nearly-disintegrating old parchments, body still brimming with fervor for her task. Then, she'd thought it was simply the awkward Miss Hardbroom’s attempt to make a friend, to bring some kind of token of friendship to the newly-installed history teacher.

It actually took several years (and several more occasions of watching Hecate interact with particular women) for Ada to realize that Hecate’s intentions weren’t platonic. She had been a girl with a crush, picking out the perfect flower for the object of her affections—trying to find something that no one else would or could, to prove herself worthy, in some way.

It had given Ada both hope and despair. Hope, because by the time she'd realized Hecate’s attraction to women, she'd already begun to feel something towards the potions mistress herself. And despair, because Hecate had never shown such an interest in Ada. Sure, Hecate was kind and thoughtful, but that’s who she was, underneath it all. She simply trusted Ada enough to show her true self. And yes, she was loyal to a fault, but every action done in Ada’s best interest had also been in the best interest of the school and its students.

Even saving Ada’s life. She chided herself for how cold that thought seemed, how it reduced Hecate to some unfeeling thing who simply went with the safest bet. Of course Hecate had been concerned for her friend, whom she trusted and respected—both of those qualities had been earned by Ada, over the years, and she was hardly prouder of any other accomplishment in her personal life. But there was always a delicateness to the balance, as if one wrong move could shatter it all. Ada was a good person, she knew, and didn’t need any kind of incentive to make the right choice—but if she were being honest, the thought of disappointing Hecate had colored her decisions, more than once. The potions mistress had made her want to be a better person. And that desire _had_ made her a better person.

That’s how she knew that she’d made the right choice, naming Hecate as her deputy head after Agatha left. Her mother’s final bit of advice—the best advice she ever gave, in Ada’s opinion—had been simple. _Surround yourself with people who make you want to be a better person, and whom you inspire to be better in turn. You will never go wrong, with a support system like that._

Ada used that advice in all areas of her life, personal and professional. She’d once dated a witch who brought out her worst insecurities, made her feel so bumbling and inadequate and unworthy. It made her jealous, and sniping, and a lesser person. So she’d ended it, and hadn’t had much desire to try again since.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She just hadn’t had any desire to try again with any of the witches or wizards who’d expressed interest. But yes, at the end of the day, she sometimes found herself wishing she wasn’t alone in her bed, or that perhaps there was a hand slipped into hers as she walked through the gardens, someone who could hold all her secrets and witness her life and give it another dimension.

She had most of that, with Hecate. Just not…the physical, romantic side of it. The practical and more necessary side was there. The confidante, the trusted voice, the silent witness who saw more sides of her than anyone else and didn’t blink, didn’t shy away, didn’t judge or condemn.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she felt a rush of relief. Any distraction was certainly welcome at this point. With a flick of her wrist, she opened the door.

Oh. Hecate.

“I came to retrieve my imp of darkness,” the potions mistress drawled with a knowing smile, heeled boots clacking into the room with her usual air of belonging. Morgana made a little trilling sound of delight, abandoning Ada’s desk to return to her human. Hecate crouched, taking the cat into her arms and placing the tiniest of kisses atop her head. With a snap of her fingers, she easily righted all the items the cats had mucked about during their playful rampage.

Ada had to physically bite her tongue from asking how the mirror call went, but thankfully, Hecate spoke again, “This weekend—if it’s possible, if there isn’t any—I, I would like to leave for a few hours. Just a few.”

Hecate kept her head down, putting all of her attention into Morgana and successfully avoiding Ada’s eyes.

“Of course,” Ada replied. Gently, she added, “You don’t have to ask permission, Hecate, you know that.”

The younger witch blushed. “I do, of course. It’s just…”

_It’s just the first time I’ve left the school for a personal matter, rather than school-related_ , she finished internally. _Goddess, Hecate, your life is such a sad state._

Sad and entirely true. Even when Hecate went to a conference, it was with the intent of learning something new to bring back to the staff and students. Once a year, she took two weeks to stay in a cottage up north, taking the time to simply catch up on her reading and gather a few rare herbs that didn’t grow near the school. It wasn’t that she denied herself a well-rounded personal life so much as…she simply didn’t want one. She had her books and her potions lab and her evening teas with Ada, what more could she need?

_Well, what more do you want?_ Her inner voice challenged. Her eyes flicked upwards again, to the blonde seated at the imposing desk in front of her.

_Hecate, Hecate. Always reaching for the moon, when you can’t even touch the lowest branch on the tree_. Not her mother’s voice this time, but Mistress Broomhead’s.

“I take it the call went well?” Ada had tried not to ask, she really had. But Hecate’s face had just performed an entire exercise in shifting emotion, and she wasn’t sure she liked the last little frown that graced the younger witch’s face, the way her brows quirked downward with slightest bit of fear or hurt. She needed distraction.

“It did,” Hecate smiled again, soft and relieved. “That’s actually why—he’s coming to stay in the village on Saturday. Then next weekend, we will return home and get the whole charade over with.”

With a quick wriggle of her fingers, Ada added small stars to those days on her calendar. Stars. As if being without Hecate were some kind of special treat, something to look forward to. It couldn’t be more false.

Hecate stood there for a moment, at a loss of how to continue. When it came to the woes of teaching and helping run the school, she felt that she could tell Ada anything, as easily as breathing. But this…personal thing, loaded with so much history and past selves, was so bulky and prickly, how could she begin? How could she presume to throw it all on Ada’s kind shoulders, to burden her with more than she ever wanted?

“Well, I’m glad,” Ada saved her with a warm smile, yet again. “You seem much less stressed than you did this morning.”

She hummed in amused agreement. Then, with a moment of insight, she asked, “You don’t like Circe, do you?”

Ada baulked at the question. Leave it to Hecate to use blunt force in place of delicacy. Still, the silent anguish in those dark eyes touched Ada’s heart.

_Please lie and tell me that I’m wrong._ That’s what she was asking, Ada knew. Given what she’d seen between the two sisters, and their obvious age difference, she could guess that Hecate had a particularly soft spot for her younger sister, and for whatever reason, Ada’s approval meant a lot to her.

So, as always, Ada gave Hecate whatever she asked, when she looked at her like that. “Well, her presence seemed to upset you—and I certainly didn’t like that. But despite her…impetuous decision making skills, she seems to have a good heart, which doesn’t really surprise me. She is _your_ sister, after all.”

The relief blooming across Hecate’s face was worth the slight re-arranging of the truth, and the pink tinge her cheeks produced at the compliment made Ada wish to shower more praise, but she restrained herself.

“She does have a good heart,” Hecate agreed, letting a little more fervor edge her tone than she’d intended. It was silly, but oh, how she wanted Ada to _like_ Circe, to see her truly and yes, perhaps adore her, the way Hecate did. Ada’s approval was so important to her, though she wasn’t sure why ( _liar, liar, you know exactly why_ ). “Today was not the best example, I know, but—she’s quite clever. And usually more thoughtful. I would prefer that she abandoned green magic, but she chooses her own path and it makes her happy, so I try not to be too displeased.”

Ada briefly wondered why green magic was so low in Hecate’s esteem, but perhaps it wasn’t the _type_ of magic so much as it was a _different_ magic from Hecate’s specialty. No doubt, the elder Hardbroom had hoped her younger sister would follow her into the scientific realm of potions, a world of exactitude and control and academic sterility. Green magic was almost as unpredictable as the nature from whence it came—it took a powerful witch to be able to control it as easily as Circe did.

That part wasn’t surprising. Yes, Hecate had certainly developed her skills through rigorous practice, but there could be no denying the raw talent underneath. Ada wasn’t entirely sure of her pedigree, but the Hardbroom Matriarchy must have held some deeply magical roots. One powerful witch in a familial generation was luck, two was a dynasty in the making.

She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over her shoulder, to the framed photo on the wall. Agatha stared out, eternally frozen in a mixture of shock, terror, and anger.

They should have had a dynasty. They should still be side by side, running this academy, as they’d always dreamed of doing. But Agatha had made her choice and Ada had made hers—the right one, the best one, the safest and the most heart-wrenching one.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, Ada,” Hecate’s gentle voice, so heavy with concern and tinged with the lightest hint of heartbreak, brought Ada’s focus back to the opposite side of the room. The potions mistress had moved closer again, clutching her cat to her chest so tightly that Ada was surprised Morgana didn’t growl in protest. “All this talk of sisters can’t be easy for you. I didn’t mean to bring up old memories.”

Hecate knew better than most how it felt to be swallowed whole by thoughts of the past. Regrets and self-recriminations washing over you like a wave, leaving you entirely unable to fight against it. Many a time she’d been swept out onto that sea. Less and less so, these past few years. Still, she knew it well and felt a surge of sorrow for sending Ada tumbling into those same murky waters.

“It’s alright.” Ada’s tight smile informed her that it was not alright, not in the least. “I think of Agatha and what we could have been together, every day. Regardless of whether someone mentions sisters or not.”

_Agatha and what we could have been_. Of course. Hecate ducked her head at the thought. She’d only become deputy headmistress after Agatha had flounced off in her biggest and final snit (rumours still persisted about what exactly caused the fateful argument between her and her twin), petulantly penning a resignation letter, which appeared in the _The Witching Times_ —in fact, it was from the newspaper that Ada first learned of her sister’s departure from the school, a cruel twist that hadn’t helped the situation in the slightest.

It took Hecate a long time to settle into the role, to truly feel that Agatha wasn’t going to simply reappear and take it all back (not that _it_ was a particularly glamorous prize, to be noted). Still, she knew that although she’d been chosen because Ada trusted her steady judgment and admired her dedication to educating the next generation of witches, the headmistress surely must have missed having her sister around. While Agatha was at times cruel and childishly petulant, she also had a wicked sense of humor and a flair for fun that Hecate couldn’t even hope to emulate. She was charming, too, and always knew how to soothe disgruntled parents or woo an overzealous inspector to her side.

Yes, Hecate Hardbroom made a pale (both literally and figuratively) substitute for her predecessor. She’d accepted this long ago, and it was her wholehearted faith in Ada that kept her from questioning her appointment too much. Ada knew what she was doing, even when no one else could see it. For whatever reason, having Hecate as her counterbalance was good for the school, so Hecate accepted with little objection.

Being Ada’s deputy also gave her a chance to spend more time with the blonde, more reason to be near her throughout the day, soaking in her calm and watching her perform a million mundane tasks with such oblivious, unassuming beauty that sometimes it made Hecate’s skin _hurt_ with how much she adored her. Granted, that fact hadn’t been a consideration, at the time. By then, Hecate had come to greatly respect Ada, to trust her judgment and cherish her friendship, but it hadn’t been love yet. At least not this kind of love.

Now the thought of giving up her position, giving up the privilege of standing here in Ada’s office every evening, every morning, every chance she found a good enough excuse…oh, she couldn’t bear the thought of being without it, without _her_.

“It’s been a long day, dear,” Ada’s voice broke into her musings. Hecate looked up at her headmistress, who was smiling again—a genuine smile this time, even if it was tinged with sadness. “Perhaps we should retire.”

“Of course,” Hecate agreed, feeling chagrined for taxing Ada further after such a long and eventful day. “Pleasant dreams, Ada.”

She didn’t wait for a reply before transferring away. Pendle leaped onto the desk again, giving a small mewl of discontent at the loss of Morgana.

“It’s alright, Penny,” she kept her voice low and soothing. “She’ll be back tomorrow.”

A promise, and a prayer.

Ada gave a weary sigh. _Perhaps we should retire_ —how she wished to utter that simple phrase in an entirely different setting. One in which Hecate smiled, and waited, holding out her hand for Ada’s. Leading her back down the halls, around dimly lit corners…

_Stop, Ada. You’re worse than those lecherous old wizards from your university days. Constantly swooning over a woman who would shatter from embarrassment if you ever dared utter a fraction of the thoughts you have about her._

So she transferred herself and her familiar to her private chambers, where she tried very hard to push all thought of a certain potions mistress from her mind. Well, perhaps she didn’t try too hard.

Perhaps she didn’t try at all.

* * *

Dimity knew it was pointless, but she still glanced down as she flew over the eastern courtyard the next morning. It was, naturally, empty and silent, gray and shadowed. No whirling dervish of a Hardbroom, no flocks of fowl or sweet, soft little bunny. Just Dimity and the impending dawn.

She still had a mystery to solve. After Circe’s visit and subsequent cryptic breakfast exchange between Ada and HB, the potions mistress had successfully avoided Dimity the rest of the day, but Dimity had sought her out the next morning. No joy, as HB remained tight-lipped. But Dimity Drill was nothing if not persistent. Also, she was a wee bit bored, and annoying the hell out of HB was as good of a distraction as any.

So she’d taken to randomly popping round to wherever HB was at the moment, trying to catch her off guard and wriggle an answer out of her. To be perfectly honest, she had very little interest in HB’s personal life, and if she’d been given at least _some_ kind of answer (even if she’d known it to be a lie), she would have let the matter rest. But HB was being bull-headed, and it had evolved into a weird power struggle.

Dimity would win, though. It’s what she did. They were going into day three, and HB showed no signs of caving. But today was Saturday, which meant no classes…which meant Dimity had so. much. free. time.

And it was all devoted to winning this battle of wills against Pissy Kitty. The stakes were even higher, since the Big Mysterious Event was apparently happening next weekend—Miss Cackle had tasked Dimity with setting up another survival hike for the third and fourth year girls, which meant she was clearing the castle so that HB could be free to do…whatever.

Dimity couldn’t even begin to imagine what would keep the deputy headmistress from attending the hike, which was the most maddening part of it all. HB _lived_ for the academy (Dimity had a very compelling theory as to why she was so devoted, but that was something she kept to herself), so the idea of her choosing something else over it was absolutely foreign. Foreign, inexplicable, and currently unknown. She needed to _know_.

That was the main reason for her persistence. The last time Ada and HB had taken to secret missions and cryptic conversations, Agatha had returned and taken over the school. Dimity had spent a rather alarming amount of time as a snail—an experience that was better left unrepeated, if she had any say in the matter. So if HB was running around playing super-secret-agent-spy, there was a potential that her actions had consequences for Dimity. Hence her interest in the matter.

Yep. That was it. She absolutely was not concerned for HB’s wellbeing. She absolutely had not thought of any health reasons that might cause her colleague to leave the academy under a veil of secrecy, or of any situation she might get herself into that could require backup so that she didn’t end up trapped in a painting again. Absolutely hadn’t considered it _at all_.

Dimity brought Bippity to a great height. Then, closing her eyes, she lifted both hands in the air, taking one last deep breath before swinging herself upside down on the broom. She dangled for a moment before unhooking her legs and free-falling.

There was a serenity in the weightlessness. After all these years, there wasn’t any fear or adrenaline rush, just calm joy and a feeling of balance. She reached out with her magic, calling Bippity to her. She continued her plummet, arms and legs outstretched like a starfish. Bippity zipped alongside her, coming level with both of her hands. She waited just a moment longer before grabbing the well-polished handle, concentrating on incrementally slowing the descent so that she didn’t jerk around or otherwise injure herself.

Soon, they were moving slowly, like a dandelion seed on the breeze. An easy chin-up brought her back onto the broomstick properly, and she led Bippity in a lazy loop around the castle, slowly climbing back into the morning sky, which was blushing with the first hints of sunlight.

Oh, this life was perfect, sometimes.

Around the castle she went again, flying closer to the stone and feeling the slight ripple of magic that constantly emanated from the school. The windows were all still dark, save the bustle and smoke coming from the kitchen. And the one tiny—

HB’s window. A light was on. Not entirely unusual, as HB never seemed to sleep, but Dimity felt a surge of childish excitement. Right now, she could pop into the hallway, bang on HB’s door, and start the day off right—by annoying the ever-living hell out of her colleague.

So she did exactly that.

HB whipped her door open with a look of absolute alarm. When she saw Dimity’s grinning face, her expression melted into irritation.

“What do you want, Drill?”

“You know.”

A sigh that devolved into a snarl. Dimity never stopped smiling, knowing full well that it only pissed HB off further.

“Why are you like this?” HB demanded, narrowing her eyes as if Dimity was some weird specimen in her beloved lab.

“What’s the traveling cloak for?” Dimity gave a question of her own, nodding towards the heavy cape on HB’s shoulders.

“For traveling,” the potions mistress drawled.

“Where ya going?”

“Anywhere you aren’t,” HB arched a brow, closing the door rather forcefully in Dimity’s face.

_Alrighty then. Challenge accepted._ Dimity didn’t even try to fight the wash of glee surging into her veins. Today was going to be a good day.

* * *

Along with a winning smile, a stunning sense of balance, a great sense of humor, and some of the best hair this side of the Channel, Dimity Drill was blessed with an abundance of patience. A quick nip into her private chambers allowed her to grab a worn stirring ladle, which transferred with her to the potions storeroom (HB had an alarm charm on the room, but Dimity had learned to defeat it by bringing something that had been used by HB for so many years that it bore her magic’s signature, thereby disabling the charm). She quickly found a small vial labeled _Invisibility_ , in HB’s spidery scrawl. She’d used this same potion on their pathfinding trip a few weeks ago, and surprisingly, HB hadn’t asked how Dimity had gotten her hands on the Hardbroom Private Selection.

She wouldn’t use it yet. It lasted a good eight hours, but she wasn’t sure when HB was leaving, or how long she’d be gone for. So instead, she transferred back to the hall outside HB’s chambers, cast a temporary invisibility spell, and waited.

The morning bells rang to wake the girls. HB’s door didn’t open. Dimity heard the shuffling of little stockinged feet, the mumbled exchanges as the girls went about their morning preparations. The door still didn’t open. Dimity launched a locating spell—HB was still in her room.

The breakfast bells rang. Still no HB. The stone hallways reverberated with a hundred hurrying feet as the students made their way downstairs to the great hall. Dimity conjured up a protein bar and munched away. The noise died down as the mass of students moved further away. Finally, relative silence.

The handle of HB’s door turned. Dimity was on alert. The potions mistress slipped into the hallway, pointy hat firmly affixed, broomstick clutched in her gloved hand.

Dimity took out the vial of invisibility potion. Flick of the wrist, and down the hatch it went. She kept the invisibility shield on her broom, a much less taxing spell than keeping both herself and the broom invisible. She kept a cautious distance, not wanting to spook HB or give up the game.

_Ada Cackle would certainly not approve of this_ , Dimity thought. Even if it was just (relatively) harmless fun. However, she told herself that this whole situation could have been avoided, if either witch had taken five seconds to tell Dimity what was going on. So…definitely not her fault that she was technically stalking her colleague. For all she knew, she was actually doing something that might save HB’s life—or at least prevent her from living the rest of it as some resident garden slug.

HB was already up in the air by the time Dimity got outside. She followed easily enough, noting that Hecate seemed distracted and didn’t keep a firm grip on her broom, like she usually did. This only confirmed Dimity’s delusion that she definitely needed to follow the potions mistress—wherever she was going, it was causing some anxiety. That couldn’t be a good sign.

The village came into view, not too far from the castle. HB landed easily in the village green, still deserted at this early hour, miniaturizing her broom and tucking it into her pocket. Dimity followed suit.

With one last pop of her impressively starched collar, HB strode across the green and through the streets with a sense of determined focus. She was a woman on a mission, to be sure.

A woman on a mission to…have breakfast? Dimity cocked her head to the side, confused as she followed HB into a small little café, whose chalk board boasted the best eggs benedict in the country. A lofty claim, and one Dimity sorely wished she could put to the test—that protein bar had done little to comfort her still-grumbling stomach. The smell of bacon wafting through the restaurant made her want to cry.

HB was looking for someone, her face set in a slightly worried expression as her dark eyes scanned the room. There was a movement from the back of the café, someone rising from their seat to get her attention, waving her over with a dashing smile.

Oh my giddy bats.

HB was having breakfast with a _man_.

The man in question easily fit into the utterly-too-good-looking category. Sparkling blue eyes, the whitest, straightest smile Dimity had ever seen, tousled brown hair, and a decidedly mischievous air. He pulled out a chair for HB, who vanished her traveling cloak and hat before taking her seat. He leaned over, whispering something to the potions mistress and—what fresh hell was this?—HB laughed in response.

She laughed. Like a normal person. A real laugh. And she was…smiling. Smiling like someone had turned her back into Miss Softbroom again. Her eyes were lit up, her mouth curled into a syrupy warm expression—who the hell was this?

“I don’t even know my own life right now,” Dimity breathed to herself, head swimming so forcefully that she felt the need to sit down.

Hecate Hardbroom was the lezziest lesbian to ever lez. There were few things Dimity knew with absolute certainty, but that was definitely one of them. So why was she having a breakfast date with a man—really, any man, but this man in particular, with his prince charming looks and pleasant voice and nice smell—

Oops, Dimity had gotten too close. She was practically hovering over the stranger, who almost swatted her as he talked, his hands jumping and diving, building his story in the air.

HB was leaned forward, still smiling softly, listening attentively. Dimity finally picked her jaw off the floor and focused on the conversation.

“Well, of course, I blanked—and I knew I had to tell them something." He was so easy and open with HB, as if they were the best of friends, only adding to his mystery. “So I just said I was going to visit The Witchery in London. Which, of course, is something I would totally do, and have done before, so it made sense. But then, everyone got so excited and immediately started thinking of all the things they needed—so now I have a shopping list for The Witchery a mile long. I'll have to pick a better cover story next time.”

“Tell them you are returning home,” HB suggested. “It’s…not a lie.”

He shook his head. “That would raise even more questions—questions I'd prefer both left unasked and unanswered.”

HB gave a low hum of understanding.

“So, up for a quick jaunt to London, my dear?” His smile was so charming that Dimity almost volunteered to go herself.

“Oh, well, I think—I mean,” HB fumbled for words, her eyes wide with barely-contained terror.

“You’re afraid someone will see us?” The stranger guessed. HB didn’t answer, but her expressive face gave it away anyways. He reached out, gently taking her hand, “It’s fine, Heck. You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. I’ll just say that I lost the list, no big deal.”

HB’s face melted into a look of adoring gratefulness. “It’s just—I’m not sure I want anyone knowing before next weekend. If my family—”

“No, you’re right, you’re absolutely right,” Handsome Stranger nodded in agreement. Dimity was so intrigued and so completely lost that she wanted to scream. Why were they being so damn cryptic? Couldn’t they just rehash the situation, just a little bit, so that she could catch up? It was like opening a book to the middle and reading, with no context or clue of what had happened before.

Leave it to HB to be absolutely maddening, in all things.

“Thank you,” HB said quietly, smiling softly. After a beat, she added, “Of all the people Circe could have chosen, I’m glad it was you.”

Circe? Chosen? Dimity felt she should have brought a pen and notepad, to jot down all the questions she had. This whole following-HB-thing was meant to answer questions, not create more.

“Me too,” Handsome Stranger was smiling the same way HB was, with gentle adoration.

A waiter came. They placed their order. Dimity placed a silencing spell on her stomach, which grumbled and groaned at the menu.

She should leave now. To be honest, she’d already stayed longer that she should have. HB obviously wasn’t in danger or off to find a cure for some mysterious disease. As deep as her curiosity was, she should allow the woman some privacy. So she easily slipped back out of the café and made her way back to the academy.

Briefly, she wondered if Miss Cackle knew—of course she did, she always did. But did Ada know that HB’s handsome stranger smiled at her like that, or made HB smile that same warm way in return?

“The whole world’s gone bonkers,” Dimity shook her head, guiding Bippity back into the air. “Absolutely bonkers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More mental casting: for Max, think John Barrowman. Because if anyone could win HB over, it'd be that wonderful man.
> 
> Also: the piece of advice Ada's mother gives her (finding people who make you want to be better), is actually a slight variation of something my mother once told me. She'd meant it in regards to romantic relationships, but I've applied it to friendships and even professional relationships, and I have to say, it's never steered me wrong. Thanks, Mom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought there was useless lesbian angst before...lace up your corsets, bitches, cuz we're on a roll.
> 
> Seriously, though, if you're not a fan of Downton Abbey, now would be a good time to familiarize yourself with exactly what I mean when I say I'm gonna Carson and Hughes these poor helpless witches through this entire Hackle Summer Trope Challenge.

Ada tried not to be too concerned when Hecate missed both breakfast and lunch. Really, there was nothing to worry about. Hecate was safe, she knew. So why was she anxiously watching the clock?

She should be focusing on other staff members. Like Dimity Drill, who’d arrived at lunch with a decidedly guilty look on her face. Ada had spent over half her lifetime teaching children, and she knew that look. However, she let it be. If it was something important, Dimity would tell her. The woman was a terrible secret keeper, one of her best and worst traits.

“So…where’s HB?” Dimity asked, hesitantly, as if she feared the answer.

Or already knew it.

Ada hoped it was the first, but greatly suspected it was the second. She knew Hecate would never divulge such information to the flying instructor, which meant Dimity had done something sneaky. Goddess, those two were just like a pair of sisters. Drill being the annoying younger one, Hardbroom being the all-too-easily-annoyed elder.

“She’s off campus for the day,” Ada smiled, pretending not to notice Dimity’s body language.

Dimity merely nodded, and Ada knew for sure that the woman knew the truth. Great. Hecate would probably have a heart attack, if she knew that Drill was privy to details of her personal life. Particularly this one.

A first year sneezed, accidentally turning some carrot sticks into flying darts that shot across the great hall and into the stone wall with traumatic force. The dither around the hall was distraction enough, and Ada felt a small measure of relief that Hecate wasn’t here. She’d probably devolve into an apoplectic fit, and the poor first year would be a quivering mass of tears by the time the deputy head had finished her lecture.

Lunch continued without any further incident, and Ada spent the afternoon in the rose garden, enjoying the afternoon sun and a good book.

A shadow passed over her page and she looked up to see Hecate and her broom descending, cloak billowing out behind her like an ominous thunderhead. Still, to Ada, there was never a more welcome sight.

“Well met, Miss Cackle,” Hecate’s tone was tinged with playfulness as she gave a mock-formal salutation.

“Well met, Miss Hardbroom,” Ada played along, unable to stop the silly grin from taking over her expression. She transferred her book back to her office, knowing full well that she wouldn't read a single word more with Hecate at her side.

Hecate’s hat, cloak, broom, and gloves vanished as she moved towards the bench where Ada sat, taking a space next to her. Ada took a moment to simply look at her deputy. The day had been much warmer than expected, and Hecate’s dark dress, coupled with the heavy traveling cloak, had soaked up the sun and its warmth, leaving the younger witch with rosy cheeks and a slight sheen.

A beautiful and rare sight, which Ada berated herself for enjoying.

“It went well?” Ada didn’t feel odd asking about Maximillian anymore. Hecate had mirrored him every evening since Circe’s visit, and usually, she told Ada about some part of the conversation, or about the continued plot to pull off the fake engagement. Hecate had been hesitant at first, but it didn’t take long to regain their usual sense of comfort with each other. Ada was grateful for this insanity, despite the stress it had caused Hecate at the start—during their discussions of Hecate’s predicament, Ada had learned so much more about her friend. Little things, like the name of the village where Hecate grew up, the fact that she was a solitary child (no big surprise there), and that in addition to Circe, there were three Hardbroom brothers, all married, and a blossoming brood of nieces and nephews. Hecate had implied that she was not close with her brothers, their wives, or offspring, but she didn’t have any issues with them, either. They simply weren’t close.

Some families were like that, Ada knew. Aside from her and Agatha, there was a younger Cackle sister and a brother as well, but they weren’t particularly close to Ada, either. She and Agatha had each other, they didn’t feel much need for their other siblings, when they were younger. There were no hard feelings about it, and when they did see each other at holidays and such, they got on quite well. They just didn’t remain particularly close during the rest of the year. That’s how it was, sometimes. Sometimes you had to build your own family, in the people you met later in life.

“It did,” Hecate gave a slow nod, smiling at the thought. “It was a good idea, to actually spend time together before we go home. To…practice, in a way.”

Hecate glanced down at her hand, flexing her fingers. They’d strolled around the village, just chatting about anything and everything. He’d taken her hand, as easily as breathing, without thought or hesitation. She’d found it…nice. And she’d soon found herself day-dreaming of walking through the gardens with Ada, doing the same thing. It’d be so easy, just to reach out, and…

_Don’t._ She clenched her fingers into a fist, intentionally digging her nails into the flesh of her palm as punishment for such stupid thoughts.

Ada felt her heart drop at Hecate’s last words. Ah, yes. The part of this whole charade that Ada continued to forget—that she intentionally forgot, because it was agony to remember. Hecate was supposed to be madly in love with this man. And people in love…looked like they were in love. They smiled warmly at each other. Walked closely side-by-side. Kissed and held each other.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the image of Hecate wrapped up in someone else’s arms out of her mind.

“Ada, are you alright?”

Her eyes flew open again and she immediately pasted on a smile, “Yes, of course. I think the sun’s becoming a bit much.”

Hecate’s expressive fingers produced a large black parasol, which she tilted towards Ada, providing her with most of the shade. A gallant gesture. Ada wondered if Maximillian would do the same for Hecate.

“Shall we go inside?” Hecate asked quietly, dark brows quirked in concern.

Ada was momentarily distracted by a small, white flower, which had tumbled from the back of Hecate’s bun and onto her shoulder. Without thinking, she reached out, plucking it from the fabric. Hecate was momentarily confused, and then she laughed.

“Max…decorated my hair, while we were picnicking on the green,” she explained, face soft and warm with the memory. “I thought I’d gotten them all out.”

With a small wave of magic, Ada sent the flower back to the plait which wove around the base of Hecate’s bun. She added with a smile, “It suits you.”

Hecate ducked her head again and blushed.

_Careful, Ada. Your messy little heart’s going to fall out into her lap, and everything between you will be completely ruined_.

“It’s a perfect day for a picnic,” Ada turned her attention back to the beautiful day.

Hecate hummed in agreement. Inwardly, she corrected the statement. It was a _nice_ day for a picnic. _Perfect_ would have been a picnic with Ada. Not that Maximillian hadn’t been a charming dining companion—it’s just she’d seen the warm, knowing smiles of the people passing by, and she’d felt a total and utter fraud.

Ada was staring out at the green lawn wistfully, and Hecate made a promise to herself to take the headmistress on a picnic, once this charade was all sorted. Ada was never one to ask for much, or even want for much—but for whatever reason, she seemed to wish for a picnic, too, and so she would have it. Besides, she deserved it, for enduring the ridiculousness of Hecate’s personal life invading her school.

“So, there is a bit of a problem with my dearly beloved,” Hecate confessed with an air of mocking somberness.

“Is there?” Ada was curious, her tone tinged with amusement. Hecate was particularly playful today, and she’d relish it for as long as it lasted. Her deputy didn’t relax often, at least not into such carefree spirits, so when she did, Ada tried to keep her in that space as long as possible.

“Yes. Today he informed me that if our romance is to be believable, I should call him by his nickname.”

“Perfectly reasonable.”

“It’s Millie.”

Now Ada burst into peals of laughter—she actually _snorted_ at one point, and Hecate allowed the corner of her mouth to quirk into a smile at her utter adorableness.

“Oh. Oh, no,” Ada wiped away a tear, still giggling. “Oh, Hecate, that’s just…”

“I know,” Hecate played the disdain card, rolling her eyes heavenward. Like most humans, she didn’t like being the butt of a joke, but she’d take the hit, if it made Ada laugh like that. In fact, on the way home, she’d given a secret smile, imagining Ada’s reaction—she hadn’t been too far off the mark in her imaginings. This was another gift, in a way. A good laugh in exchange for the stress of being drafted into the situation in the first place.

“Why…why doesn’t everyone just call him Max?”

“Because he’s the seventh Maximillian Spellborne—there’s four more still alive and running around,” Hecate made a dismissive swat towards the wide world. “After a while, you have to get a bit… _creative_ with nicknames.”

Ada sobered slightly at the mention of Maximillian’s last name—she hadn’t known until now that he was a Spellborne. That family line was old enough to basically be witching royalty—at least one Spellborne had been on the Magic Council for the last millennia. In fact, Maximillian Spellborne V had just left the council two years ago to enjoy a long-overdue retirement.

Again, she realized how little she knew of Hecate Hardbroom’s life outside the academy.

“He apparently picked it up during his time clerking for the European Council for Craft,” Hecate shook her head, still feigning despair. Of course, when Maximillian had first told her, she’d nearly died of shock then and there. If she had to pretend he was her long-lost lover, she certainly was not going to have him share a nickname with her most troublesome student. Eventually, they’d agreed that since she’d called him Max during their childhood, she could retain her right to use that moniker, even though it was also the one used for his great-grandfather, who miraculously was still alive.

“Oh, Hecate, you really do get yourself into some interesting tangles,” Ada’s voice was still warm with amusement.

“We all have our burdens to bear,” the younger witch sniffed dramatically, casting dark eyes to the heaven like a picture-perfect martyr.

Ada devolved into giggles again.

“I’m glad my particular hell amuses you,” Hecate informed her. Despite her sarcastic tone, she truly meant every word.

“Surely you’re not going to—”

“Absolutely not. To me, he shall simply be Max. Just like when we were children.”

“Well, there’s one bullet dodged.”

“Not much comfort, after being hit by a cannon ball.”

“Your sister really does owe you, after all this,” Ada agreed.

Hecate nodded. Then, with a slight smile, she admitted, “It isn’t as bad as it seems—truly, it isn’t even that hard to pretend. Not with Max. There’s still so much…affection, still there. Sometimes, it isn’t pretending at all.”

She felt stupid, saying these things. Like she’d been turned into Softbroom all over again, but decidedly more pathetic and mawkish. But they were true and she wanted to share them, share them with someone safe. Ada was safe. Ada would understand, as she always did.

“Yes, I suppose that’s the plus side to it all,” Ada ducked her head, trying to push back her awful, ugly, jealous thoughts.

But it wasn’t jealousy, not really. It wasn’t that she didn’t wish for Hecate’s happiness. Truth be told, if Hecate found love with someone, Ada would be happy for her—happy even if it wasn’t with her, happy as long as it gave Hecate joy. Because _that_ was love—putting another’s wellbeing above your own, not matter how painful it seemed. No jealousy or selfishness, just genuine concern.

But this was wrong. Hecate deserved more than a sham of a relationship. She deserved someone who was truly in love with her. Someone who didn’t have to pretend. Someone who truly saw her, who appreciated and adored what they saw.

Confusion washed over Hecate at Ada’s sudden change of mood. The blonde was quieter, distracted, almost…upset. _What did I say, what have I done wrong? Oh, Hecate, you stupid thing, hurry up and figure out what you’ve done so that you can fix it!_

She had been talking about her affection for Max…was that it? Was she reminding Ada of past loves, of all the things she’d lost and missed? Was it because Hecate was only making a farce of it all—a sin too grievous for Ada’s romantic nature? Was there something else, some cue Hecate had missed along the way? She was forever missing things like that, too busy reeling around inside her own head, trying to gauge what should and shouldn’t be said and how to say or not say it, that sometimes she missed the signals from others entirely. It didn’t help that she’d been embarrassed by her confession, which meant she’d avoided looking at Ada, missing yet more nonverbal cues. _You absolute fucking idiot, Hecate Hardbroom, so selfish and self-absorbed._

“I am happy for you,” Ada forced herself to smile, to stop being such a petulant child about the whole thing. “If nothing else, this has given you a chance to reconnect with an old friend, and that certainly is a good thing.”

“Yes,” Hecate agreed woodenly, cautiously trying to figure out Ada’s state of mind. “It certainly is.”

Her tone informed Ada that she wasn’t certain about it at all. Ada felt another wave of shame, realizing she’d inadvertently upset Hecate with her sudden change of mood. Of course Hecate was concerned, of course Hecate was confused, and of course Ada couldn’t tell her the truth.

“This sun really is too much for me, I think,” Ada gave a slight sigh and feigned fatigue. She tilted her head up to the parasol still hanging over her head, thanks to Hecate’s magic. “Though this certainly helped.”

“Shall I transfer you to your office?” Hecate’s voice, so lined with careful concern, only made Ada want to cry. It was utterly unfair, to be so in love with a woman who had no idea the way a single tone of voice could affect her victims.

“No, I think the walk will help.” Ada rose to her feet. Hecate vanished the parasol, but she didn’t move to follow.

Hecate fought the urge to ask for permission to join her, knowing that Ada would say yes, but only out of duty or pity or sheer masochism. Ada obviously wanted to be alone with her thoughts, and Hecate shouldn’t force her company on the woman. Whatever she’d done or said before was already bad enough to upset Ada—the least she could do was not make it worse by prolonging their time together.

She’d give her space, until dinner time. Then she could quietly gauge Ada’s mood and go from there. She watched the headmistress walk away, her chest tightening at the growing distance between them.

She stayed on the bench for a long time, going over the scene in her mind, again and again. She must have been the densest witch in the world, because she couldn’t find a single moment that would explain Ada’s reaction. So she sat there even longer, silently berating herself for her stupidity, selfishness, and blindness.

* * *

 

Not having much real-world experience with friendships or any other kinds of relationships, Hecate chose to look at the situation as if she were mixing a potion. If something went wrong, it could be corrected—but only if you knew which step you had messed up, which ingredient you’d incorrectly measured or added. But if you didn’t know where the mistake lay, it was actually more dangerous to continue. Best to dump out the cauldron, scrub it clean, and start again.

So that’s what she decided to do, in a way. She cast a locating spell, her magic easily finding Ada in her office (no surprise), before transferring just outside Ada’s door. After a quick knock and a soft call to enter, she took a deep breath and plunged into the room.

“I am sorry,” she announced, inept at subtlety as always. It was always best to get awkwardness out of the way, as quickly as possible. “For—whatever I’ve done to upset you. I have tried to figure out what it was that I did or said, but I’m…I’m afraid I am hopelessly lost, as usual. But I am sorry, Ada, and I will gladly right whatever wrong there is, as soon as I know _what_ it is.”

Across the room, Ada Cackle felt her heart break. Because she instantly knew that in the large gap of time since they’d parted, Hecate had spent every second of it meticulously taking apart the entire exchange, probably being completely unkind to herself in the process, agonizing and debating over every word, every glance, every breath.

_You did this, Ada. Because you can’t control yourself or your childish emotions. And now she’s here, that shattered little thing that showed up on your doorstep twenty years ago, right back in that awful place because you put her there._

It wasn’t easy for Hecate to open and honest—not when it came to admitting she was wrong, and especially not when it came to discussing her feelings. Ada knew this. And yet here she was, doing just that, because she feared somehow losing her friendship with Ada (if only she knew how impossible that was). Ada owed her some measure of truth in return—just not all of it, not the parts that would make the situation worse.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, dear,” Ada bridged the distance between them, resisting the urge to scoop her forlorn deputy into a hug. “I should be the one apologizing—I didn’t mean to upset you, to make you waste a perfectly beautiful afternoon worrying over something like that. I wasn’t upset, I was…I was sad.”

Hecate’s expressive brows somehow managed to convey both her confusion and her concern.

Ada took a deep breath, summoning her courage to add, “For you.”

“Sad? For me?” Now Hecate fought down a rush anger. She hated pity.

“Just…well, it’s not fair, you being in this whole situation,” Ada ducked her head, looking for the right words, the words that didn’t betray her deepest feelings. “I think…I wish…you deserve all the things you’re pretending with Maximillian. Except for real.”

Hecate made a small noise, and when Ada looked up, she found the younger witch smiling softly.

“Oh, Ada,” her toned was laced with pained amusement. “You really are a hopeless romantic.”

The comment stung more than it usually would. But Ada pushed the hurt aside, determined not to have Hecate spending the rest of the night worrying about what else she’d said wrong. “I mean it, Hecate—”

“Of course you do, Ada. And for that, I am grateful.” By grateful, she meant _absolutely enthralled by you_ , but Hecate knew it was best to keep those kinds of declarations locked away. “But we’re not all…capable of being loved.”

_We’re not all like you, Ada. So effortlessly lovable, so beautiful and wonderful and kind that no one could stand a chance against falling in love with you_. Again, she knew that was something that couldn’t be said aloud.

“That’s not true at all,” Ada felt a rush of indignation at the thought that Hecate could ever see herself in such a way. “You are absolutely capable of being loved, Hecate Hardbroom. You _are_ loved.”

Hecate’s dark eyes were shimmering. Yes, Ada was right—she was loved, not by many but still by some, and that was enough. She knew she was loved, even when she didn’t always feel it. Loved by Circe, by Max, perhaps even by Ada. Loved as a sister, as a friend, as a colleague. But that passionate, romantic love that had been over-idolized for centuries? No, that simply wasn’t for her. She’d made peace with that years ago. Her Spartan childhood had been good for her, in that regard. She’d learned to be happy with what she was given, not to pine for more.

Ada could tell that Hecate didn’t believe her. She’d already said too much, delivered her words too passionately, toed the line with too much emphasis.

“You are my dearest friend, you do know that?” Hecate gave the smallest, softest of smiles. “I am eternally grateful that you see only the best in me, most of the time.”

“I see what’s really there,” Ada answered honestly. She took in every nuance of this moment—Hecate’s smile, the small white flower still tucked in her hair, the time of day, the temperature of the room, all of it—clutching it in her heart like a priceless treasure. Hecate had given her a gift, in this moment. _My dearest friend_. Words not easily uttered, sentiments not easily expressed, not for Hecate, not even after all these years of shared secrets and mutual burdens.

She continued her honesty, adding, “And now I feel like an ass, knowing I made you feel as if it were somehow your fault—”

“You’re not a mind-reader, Ada,” Hecate rushed to her defense, as always, giving Ada more compassion than she ever gave herself.

“And neither are you.”

“No, but I do know of a good spell,” Hecate mused, only half-serious.

Ada blushed at the thought of Hecate being able to read her mind. She knew Hecate’s comment was a deflection, an attempt to be lighthearted (and she loved her all the more for it, knowing humor didn’t not come naturally to the younger woman).

“I am sorry,” Ada clasped her hands in front of her, eyes searching the floorboards as if they could hold some kind of truth. “This whole situation worries me, to be honest.”

She heard the light click of Hecate’s heel as her deputy took a halting step forward. Dear, sweet Hecate, always ready to step in and right the wrong.

Ada continued, “I think of how you reacted when Circe first arrived, and how stressful this must be for you, and it…worries me. For you. You have a habit, Hecate, of sacrificing yourself for others, and it’s noble, and concerning.”

“And after a lifetime of this…habit, don’t you think I would know my own limits?” Hecate questioned softly.

The adoring smile that Ada gave her was enough to stop her heart completely. “No, my dear, I don’t think you’ll ever learn, in that regard.”

That was pure fact. After all, no one else had ended up trapped in a painting with Ada. Still, Hecate swallowed the lump in her throat and promised, “I will be careful, Ada.”

“I know you will,” Ada smiled again. “And…I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you what I was thinking, earlier. I was trying to spare you more stress, and in the end, I did the exact opposite.”

“Can you just promise that next time, you will just say these things to me? Can you just trust that I will be able to handle it?” Hecate took a halting step forward. _Tell me everything, Ada. Let me be to you all that you are to me._

“Yes, of course,” Ada lied, knowing full well that she could never burden Hecate with everything that came to her mind, particularly where this faux engagement was concerned.

The dinner bells chimed. Ada felt a wave of relief.

“Shall we, Miss Cackle?” Hecate drawled, raising her hand above her head with her usual theatricality.

“Oh, yes, let’s,” Ada nodded her assent. With a snap of her fingers, Hecate transferred to the great hall.

Ada looked up, offering one last grateful smile. She realized Hecate still had the flower in her hair. With a quick flutter of her fingers, she vanished it.

“Felicity Foxglove would write an entire opinion piece of the symbolism of your latest fashion statement,” Ada informed her, eyes twinkling conspiratorially.

Hecate gave a hum of agreement, nose wrinkling at the thought. “Thank you for saving me once again.”

“Anytime, dear.”

Ada took her seat. Hecate hung behind for a moment. Ada felt an odd ripple of magic, but didn’t pay much attention to it. 

She realized what it was, later. When she returned to her desk after supper, there sat the small white flower, retrieved from vanishment, patiently waiting for her like a love letter.


	5. Chapter 5

The next week passed by all too quickly, in Hecate’s opinion. Oddly enough, Drill had given her a wide berth (probably had stolen something from her potions storeroom _yet again_ and was trying to avoid detection), for which Hecate was undeniably grateful. She found herself waking every morning in unease, dread pooling in her stomach with nauseating oiliness. The feeling lessened throughout the day, but it was still there, making her feel off-balance and heavy, like she was walking through waist-deep sludge. Every night her shoulders ached from carrying all the anxiety, and sleep brought no true rest at all. She really didn’t have the energy to deal with any Drill-based shenanigans.

Ada felt the mounting tension as well—noting that more than once, Hecate sent her regrets, informing her that she wouldn’t be attending dinner. Given the impending weekend plans, Ada was more lenient than she usually would be. She liked giving the girls a feeling of unity—they needed to see that despite whatever disagreements the staff may have during the day, they still took the evening meal together, like a family.

All too soon, it was Friday evening, and Hecate had begged off dinner once again. Ada sat at her desk, both Morgana and Pendle curled around her feet as she muddled her way through expense reports (this was usually Hecate’s task, since she actually _enjoyed_ the exactitude of it, the satisfaction of clean lines and correctly added numbers, but Ada was trying to give her a true weekend off). The girls had gone to bed early, since almost half the student body was going away on a pathfinding trip the next morning. Planning the trip had kept Dimity busy and out of trouble, for the most part. Although apparently she’d butted heads with Miss Gimlett once or twice (so maybe the problem wasn’t Miss Hardbroom, after all).

There was a quick knock on the door, which Ada answered with, “Come in!”

Hecate came into the room, her body brimming with nervous energy. Without prelude, she announced, “So, tomorrow’s the day.”

Ada didn’t have to ask what day it was. The day Hecate would return home with Maximillian Spellborne, ready to play a charade of love.

Hecate was now in front of her desk, eyes filled with concern. “I’ve—I still worry, being gone while Drill and Gimlett are away, too.”

Again, Ada didn’t have to question that statement. The staff at Cackle’s was already too small for the amount of students they housed, and leaving the place with three less capable adults to defend and protect the girls could be a bit of risk, given the events of the past few years.

“We will manage,” Ada assured her. “Your magic protects this place, even when you’re away.”

“Still.” Hecate glanced down, and Ada realized she was carrying something in each hand. “I would feel—it would be better, to take precautions. Magic doesn’t always work. _Can’t_ always work.”

A hard thing to admit, particularly for Hecate Hardbroom. But she had a point—a witch could have her magic taken away from her, or the castle could be put under a spell-casting quarantine. Both scenarios having been actual realities in the past three years.

“I’m assuming you have some sort of solution,” Ada drawled knowingly. She suddenly understood why Hecate had been absent from dinner for so many evenings—she’d been working on some kind of contingency, her diligent and dutiful deputy.

“I do,” Hecate nodded, eyes still trained on her own hands, which she opened. In each palm sat a pewter bangle, each with a flat disc in the middle of the band.

“Connection charms,” Ada’s voice was soft with understanding. Usually a simple, silly tool for lovers. The band would magically resize to fit the wearer’s wrist, the flat disc laying against the pulse point. One partner simply had to touch the disc and the other partner would feel the warmth of their touch on their wrist. A sweet and gentle reminder of how much they were missed in that moment. Some could be further modified so that one partner could actually feel the other’s hand on their body…wherever the second partner’s hand happened to be touching their own body.

“Yes,” Hecate was blushing, obviously aware of their general uses. “It took a while, getting enough of our individual magic into them, making sure they would work over the distance.”

As a charm, it wouldn’t require the wearer to be magical, or to cast a spell to make it work. If anything happened to Ada or the school, it would work, regardless.

“You really are the witchiest witch I know,” Ada informed her, in awe of both the idea and its simplicity.

Hecate’s face was crimson now, but she prided herself on the fact that her hand did not tremble when she offered Ada the bangle that had been imbued with Hecate’s magic. “If ever you need me, tap three times. Three solid, long taps. I will be to you in an instant.”

A transfer over such a long distance would be taxing, but Ada had no doubt that Hecate would risk draining her powers to rush to the rescue, even if it meant that by the time she arrived, she’d have less energy to actually defend against an attack. This was exactly what Ada had been talking about, when she’d discussed Hecate’s penchant for self-sacrifice. Still, this wasn’t the time for such reminders—Hecate deserved to be praised, not chided, for her thoughtfulness.

Ada gently took the bangle, slipping it over her left hand. The metal instantly compacted, fitting snugly around her wrist. Hecate did the same, taking a shallow, shaking breath.

She instantly felt a tap against her wrist.

“Just testing,” Ada informed her.

Hecate nodded, not trusting her voice in that moment. It was silly, a simple touch on the wrist—through a piece of hammered metal, no less. But she hadn’t expected it to be so…warm. And she hadn’t expected the tingling sensation on her skin, as Ada’s magic settled and mingled with her own.

“Now you try,” Ada instructed. Hecate was still too flustered to object, but she inwardly pointed out that it didn’t matter if hers worked—after all, this was to alert Hecate to danger, not Ada.

Ada felt the timid brush against her own wrist, even felt the slight prick of Hecate’s fingernail. Again, she felt a surge of awe, “This truly is a work of excellence, Hecate.”

Hecate was pretty sure all of the blood in her body had rushed to her face, given how profusely she’d been blushing the past few minutes (well, not _all_ the blood—some had decided to take a much more…southern path). She was such a tittering idiot, so hopelessly, helplessly enamored that a few nice words from this woman was enough to set her body into reacting as if she’d just been told the most deliciously scandalous things.

Ada noted how her words affected her deputy, who thankfully was looking down at the floor, so that she couldn’t see Ada involuntarily biting her lip. Oh, she’d known that Hecate always responded better to praise than criticism (generally, who didn’t?), but this reaction made Ada’s head spin in entirely new directions. Directions that were not appropriate, in the least. Still, she tucked the thought away for later—later, when she was well away from the object of her affection, when she was safely in her own chambers, free to give into the desire to imagine, free to…

_Ada Cackle, you lecherous woman. Thank goodness Hecate can’t read minds_.

“The third and fourth year girls are leaving at dawn,” Ada quickly changed the subject, absentmindedly shuffling the papers on her desk and casting a quick cooling spell over herself. “I’m assuming you will wait to depart until after they’ve left.”

“Yes,” Hecate nodded quickly, grateful for the distraction. She, too, cast a cooling spell, and a drying spell. Goddess above, she was a disgrace.

“And you will be back…?”

“Sunday afternoon, most likely. I don’t wish to stay any longer than absolutely necessary,” she admitted, flicking an imaginary piece of lint from her sleeve with such disdain that Ada was certain Hecate wished she would do the same with her weekend plans.

If Hecate had her way, they'd only go for a single day. But Maximilian had pointed out that a flight by broomstick would be over four hours (which Hecate had absolutely zero problem with, but she could understand why others would be loathe to do the same), and, due to impending weather, perhaps not the best of ideas. So they were flying into the nearest town and taking the train. As if spending time with her mother wasn’t bad enough, Hecate would be forced to walk among the nonmagical masses. Circe’s debt was growing by the day.

Unfortunately, trains ran on schedules, so they would have to wait until one was ready to begin the journey home—which would be Sunday morning. Another reason to look down upon the hoi polloi, their enslavement to modern transportation and all its rules, like speed limits and stop lights and train schedules. Much better to hop on a broom and go, whenever and wherever and however one liked.

“Good. I had hoped to see you off,” Ada gave a nod of approval and a warm smile of reassurance. She knew Hecate was a bundle of nerves now—she could feel the anxiety radiating from her thin frame like a sonar, pulsing against everything it touched.

Hecate gave a frail, watery smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, which were too full of fear.

“Perhaps…if you’re all packed and ready to go, you could give me a hand with these,” Ada motioned to the expense reports. So much for her plan to give Hecate as much free time as possible—the woman needed distraction.

“Of course,” Hecate practically lunged at the reports, lungs shuddering with gratefulness. She sat down immediately, not even bothering to go to her own desk. She scooted the chair usually reserved for wayward pupils closer to Ada’s desk, producing a pen from thin air and beginning her meticulous trawl of each and every line item.

That little detail had always impressed Ada—the pen. Hecate never needed to correct her markings, because she always tripled-checked before she ever wrote a single thing down. Now, of course, Ada understood what kind of childhood must have produced such a neurotic personality, so overwhelmingly fearful of making a single, simple mistake.

Hecate still hadn’t mentioned a single detail about her parents. But she didn’t need to. The level of anxiety caused by the thought of seeing them again was information enough for Ada, who’d seen just about every variation of the family dynamic over the years. Hecate was calm and even joyful when she talked about Max, so spending a weekend with him obviously wasn’t the problem. If her siblings showed up, there seemed to be no strife there to revisit.

Which left Mr. and Mrs. Hardbroom. The ones never spoken about, but always waiting at the edge of the frame. The ones who deemed one present per year was suitable for a child, who taught that solemn chants and dour readings of historical tragedies was the proper way to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve, rather than with treats and laughter and joy. That was all Ada knew about them, and given Hecate’s personality, all she cared to know. Inwardly, she felt a glower of anger for the young girl who’d been forced to grow up in a world where love and light and laughter were excesses, not necessities, and where worthiness was put above acceptance.

Though in a way, they did still give Ada the Hecate that she knew and loved. What a painful juxtaposition, to despise them for making Hecate this way, and yet love so much of how she was.

The sound of Hecate’s impressive nose taking in a long, frustrated breath brought her back to the present. The brunette shook her head softly, “Dimity. Drill.”

“What’s she done now?”

“Spent far too much on broom polish, yet again.” Hecate’s expressive fingers flexed and gripped the pen with agitation. “It’s going to put us over budget, _yet again_.”

“Surely not by too much.”

Hecate cut her eyes at Ada, a silent reprimand. “Over is still _over_ , Ada, regardless of how much. She must be taught to stay within her given means. It’s always a slippery slope with her—give an inch, she’ll take a mile.”

“You make her sound like a misbehaving child,” Ada chided, still amused. She wondered if Hecate would be this strict about any of the others going over budget, but she was wise enough not to voice such a thought.

“If the boot fits,” Hecate bent her head over the reports again, her voice softening as she became distracted by her work again. “Lace it up and wear it.”

Ada chuckled at the snark, glad that at least Hecate’s irritation was keeping her from thinking about tomorrow. They continued through the evening in companionable silence, the only sounds the scratching of a pen and the purring of two very happy cats. Morgana slowly made her way from sleeping at Hecate’s feet, to curling up in her lap, to perching on her shoulder, one paw gently tapping at Hecate’s bun as if it were a ball of yarn.

“Touch it one more time and I will vanish you, Morgana Hardbroom,” Hecate drawled quietly, never stopping her work. The feline stopped, looking particularly offended, but obeyed the unspoken command and left her human’s hair alone.

Ada grinned at the exchange. Hecate was the only witch she knew who’d actually given her familiar her surname, as if she were a child rather than a cat. An unusual quirk whose sentimentality was at-odds with the cold and unattached persona that Hecate presented to the rest of world, and yet was perfectly in-sync with the woman that Ada had the privilege of seeing, when no one else was around.

_Privileges are merited, and therefore can be unmerited._ Hecate had said that once, in regards to some student activity or another. Looking back, Ada now wondered if that was something she’d learned from her parents. Either way, Hecate’s world was based on meritocracy. Ada found that a particularly chilling worldview, but even more so when she considered how Hecate might react, if ever she found out Ada’s true feelings towards her. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing this, this quiet privilege of watching Hecate as she obliviously focused on her work, biting her lip and giving her brows a full workout as she mentally added and subtracted and balanced and rebalanced, hand reaching up to lightly pull at Morgana’s tail, winding it around her finger.

She glanced around the room, trying to pull her gaze away from the distracting scene before her. Her eyes landed on the clock. “Goodness, Hecate, it’s quite late.”

“Is it?” Hecate’s voice held feigned interest, as if perhaps she hadn’t actually heard what Ada had said. “Well, I shall finish soon. No sense in leaving a job undone.”

“You need your rest.”

“I won’t sleep anyways. Might as well be productive.”

“Take a sleeping draught.”

A curt yet vehement shake of the head was her answer. For a potions mistress, Hecate Hardbroom was oddly loathe to use any kind of magical aid for her physical discomforts. Unless, of course, her good health was important to a class or another academic function. _Strength through suffering_ must be the Hardbroom motto.

“You can retire, if you like,” Hecate’s voice interrupted the momentary silence. “I think you can trust me not to rifle through your things.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone.”

“Afraid some fiendish ghoul will whisk me away in the night?” Fifteen years ago, that actually could have been a possibility. Thankfully that problem had been relatively easy to rectify.

“No, afraid that you’ll find something else to do and won’t sleep a wink at all,” Ada countered with absolute honesty. “You must _try_ to rest, Hecate.”

It was a dirty move, infusing her voice with more concern than necessary. But it worked. At Ada’s tone, Hecate’s head snapped up, face filled with chagrin at causing even the slightest worry to her headmistress. Ada should have felt badly about manipulating her deputy so easily, but it was for her own good, so she felt nothing but relief when she saw Hecate quickly finishing her work.

Once the reports were back in Ada’s hands, though, Hecate became anxious again. Ada had hoped that by now, she’d been too exhausted to care.

“There is—I do have one last thing,” Hecate stood, gingerly taking Morgana from her shoulder and letting her leap back onto the floor. “The thing is—we are taking the train….”

“Yes, you mentioned that, earlier.”

“Well…I don’t often go…out there,” Hecate tilted her head towards the window, implying the world outside of Cackle’s Academy. “And when I do, I generally don’t…I only go to magical places, so…”

“Yes?” Ada’s curiosity was fully stoked now. What was Hecate trying to ask? How to be nonmagical? Wouldn’t Maximillian be there to guide her through it all, didn’t he spend time in the world of nonmagic?

“Well, we’re going to be with… _people_ ,” Hecate said the word as if she were choking back bile. “Nonmagical people. And…I don’t wish to draw attention to myself, in any way, shape, or form.”

“Right.” Ada was still absolutely lost.

“Circe says I have to dress a certain way,” Hecate forced the words out, quick and hot with embarrassment. Really, she couldn’t believe she was asking this of Ada, but who else did she have to turn to? “She…she magicked me an outfit, but I’m—well, she’s a bit of a practical joker, and I’m afraid—”

“You’re afraid she’s dressing you in a way that will intentionally make you look like a fool,” Ada surmised, feeling a measure of satisfaction at finally solving the puzzle.

Hecate nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line.

_Oh, Hecate, Hecate. How painful any kind of negative attention is for you. And how I hate whoever made you this way, so afraid of even the most mundane mistakes._

“Will you—can you tell me if this is truly appropriate for...the train?” Hecate’s face twisted into an absolute grimace of uncertainty, as if she were asking Ada to dive from the castle spires with no spell safety net and fully expecting her to refuse.

“Of course,” Ada fought back the urge to laugh at Hecate’s ridiculousness (that certainly wouldn’t help the situation, but goddess above, she was so adorably endearing in this moment).

Hecate took a deep breath and shut her eyes as she snapped her fingers.

Ada stifled a gasp and failed spectacularly. Hecate Hardbroom was wearing jeans. And a t-shirt!

Granted, the black shirt read _Metal Never Dies_ in faded white lettering, but it looked undeniably soft and hit her in all the right places. It certainly gave away more of her shape than the thick brocade dresses and billowing blouses she wore at school. And the neckline— _don’t you dare look, Ada Cackle, don’t you…dammit._

The jeans, black as well and fitted to perfection, only increased the long look of her legs, and her feet still wore heeled boots, sleek and slightly impractical for travel, but she looked so wonderful that Ada couldn’t imagine her wearing anything else.

“You look…perfect.” Ada couldn’t stop the breathy admiration from flooding her tone.

“Really?” Hecate’s face scrunched in confused disbelief, as if Ada had just informed her that all familiars were being replaced with komodo dragons.

“Really,” Ada gained better control of her vocal chords, thankful for her deputy’s obliviousness when it came to matters of attraction (a saving grace for Ada, more than once).

“Oh, and there’s this,” Hecate snapped and a leather jacket appeared, a soft dove grey that only drew attention to her dark eyes. She cautiously pulled at the lapels, her brows quirking questioningly, “And this is…OK? This looks…normal, normal enough that no one would look twice?”

Oh, all and sundry would look twice. But not because of some fashion faux pas. Ada got the distinct feeling that when Max saw his pretend lover, his look of admiration would be anything but pretense.

“It’s absolutely perfect,” Ada assured her, feeling every ounce of her words. “You look like something out of a magazine, but you look completely normal.”

“I don’t want to seem vain,” Hecate worried, glancing down at her outfit again. “And the shirt…the words…that’s something nonmagical people will understand, and not mind?”

Ada fought back a smile. Now that part was certainly Circe’s attempt at having a little fun at her sister’s expense, but it wasn’t embarrassing. If anything, it was Circe dressing up Hecate’s alter-ego, a chance to see the life her sister could have led, if she’d done like Circe and abandoned convention.

“Yes. It’s a reference to a specific musical genre.”

“Is it good music?” Hecate’s head cocked to the side.

“Good is subjective,” Ada returned philosophically. Hecate sniffed in disagreement, turning her head slightly to glance down at Morgana, who was watching her human with wide eyes. This action only highlighted the lines of her collar bone, and Ada had to bite her tongue to distract herself.

“Well, I think I’ve kept you up long enough,” Hecate decreed, patting her hip in a silent command for Morgana to come to her. The black cat easily climbed up her leg, and Hecate didn’t even flinch at the claws that must have been digging into her flesh.

_Oh, I think you’ll keep me up quite a while longer,_ Ada silently rebutted, clenching her fists in disapproval of her own thoughts.

“See you in the morning?” Hecate’s voice was tinged with hopeful uncertainty. As if Ada might forget, might go back on her word to see her off.

“Of course,” Ada gave a nod and a smile. With a flick of her wrist, Hecate was gone.

Ada let out a deep sigh. Oh, this needed to be over with soon. Or else they’d be in all kinds of trouble.

* * *

 Hecate felt it was important to leave the academy in her nonmagical wardrobe—she needed to get used to it, to move as if she dressed this way every day of her miserable, drab, magicless life.

She clutched her broom in one hand, her knees feeling restricted as she made her way down the stone steps. The pathfinders had already left, but the rest of the girls weren’t awake yet, thank goddess above. There’d be no one to witness this humiliating ensemble.

Except Ada. Ada, who was currently waiting at the foot of the stairs, smiling benignly at her as if she were a small witchling off to her first day of school.

Ada had prepared herself for this sight, promising she wouldn’t be such an idiot over something as simple as a t-shirt and jeans again. But as it often happened in regards to Hecate, she failed. This time over a necklace. Today Hecate was wearing her timepiece with the ensemble, tucked under her shirt. The gold chain glistened and winked across the pale skin of her upper chest, coming together in a V and disappearing between the swell of her breasts. Her shirt shifted slightly with each step, the heavy clock bouncing against her stomach and ricocheting back against the fabric, as if fighting for the chance to burst through.

Before today, Ada would have thought it impossible to be envious of an inanimate object. She was shockingly wrong. Lucky, lucky timepiece. Touching Hecate’s bare skin. Being warmed by her body. Being with her always.

She was proud of how well she schooled her expression, how unaffected she seemed. She would not ruin this moment for Hecate, who needed her so desperately right now. This would be a moment of nerves and adrenaline, and Ada would prove herself capable of being Hecate’s rock, giving her a moment of calm reassurance before the whirlwind weekend truly began.

“Well met, hoi polloi,” Ada teased, and Hecate found herself smiling at the warmth in her tone. Ada could tease her until the end of time, if she did so with that smile and those twinkling blue eyes.

“Well met, lucky witch,” Hecate returned. Ada inwardly agreed—lucky indeed, to be one of the few who ever saw Hecate Hardbroom so outfitted.

“And well met, you two wonderful sisters!”

Oh. Oh, no.

Circe.

Hecate felt her stomach drop as her younger sister strolled into view, wearing a particularly pleased look. “So you _did_ stick to my wardrobe choice! I must say, you look absolutely _smoking_ hot—doesn’t she, Miss Cackle?”

Ada bumbled and blushed, “Yes, well, she looks quite lovely, yes—”

“Circe,” Hecate reprimanded her, but her tone was still unbelievably gentle. She grimaced as she looked down at the jeans again. “I don’t see how anyone can move in these things. I feel as if they’ll split at the seams when I try to sit.”

She did a half turn, inspecting the back seam over her shoulder. Ada had to remind her jaw to close as she took in the sight of Hecate’s ass in the tight denim. It was an absolute salvation that the woman didn’t dress like that most days—Ada would have been completely inept at even breathing, if that was the sight that greeted her whilst walking through the halls every day.

“That’s the point, Heck,” Circe drawled, her tone laden with amusement. “Ol’ Millie’s gonna have a heart attack when he sees you strutting down the platform.”

“Platform?” Hecate was confused. “He’s meeting me here.”

“Correction: he _was_ meeting you here. But then I informed him that I wanted a little girl time with my big sissy,” Circe gave a cheeky grin.

“You’re not—”

“Oh I most certainly am not missing a chance to witness you and Millie pulling off the greatest scam in recorded history.”

“Stop calling him that.”

“What? Millie?”

“Stop.”

“But that’s his—”

“Not around me it isn’t,” Hecate remained firm. “Call him whatever you please out of my earshot, but when I’m around, he is Max or Maximillian. Nothing else.”

Ada choked back a laugh, ducking her head. Circe’s brows shot up in surprise, but she didn’t question it any further. She’d aptly read the warning in her elder sister’s tone and wisely chose to heed it, for once. Instead, she cocked her head to the side, mouth screwing into a moue of disapprobation, “You’re not wearing your hair like that, are you?”

Hecate self-consciously touched her usual tidy bun. “I think it’s perfectly suitable—”

Circe’s fingers were already wriggling, and Hecate’s hair came gloriously undone.

Sweet Morgan le Fay, Ada Cackle might well die of a heart attack then and there. But what a way to go. Hecate’s hands were scrambling, helplessly trying to pull the hair back into some semblance of its former confinement. “Circe, I can’t—”

“Oh, you can and you shall. Though perhaps we’ll adjust it, just a skosh.” Circe flicked her wrist again, setting her sister’s hair into a half ponytail and taming the wild waves into something with less volume and slightly more structure. “There. You look _divine_ , Heck. By the time our train arrives, you’ll have at least half a dozen men ready to throw themselves onto the tracks, just for a kiss.”

Hecate’s expression implied that she wouldn’t mind the deaths but certainly wouldn’t enjoy the admiration. She zipped up her grey leather jacket, and Ada almost whimpered at the loss of skin. Who knew clavicles could be such distractions?

“Didja see?” Circe opened her jacket, a deeper wine-colored leather, so that Hecate could fully inspect her own shirt. “We match.”

The shirt read _Punk’s Not Dead_ , whatever that was supposed to mean. Hecate wasn’t even sure how that qualified as matching, since it was neither the same phrase nor even the same color. However, it must have some hidden meaning to Circe. Hecate turned to Ada, her eyes filled with questions.

Ada gave a small shake of her head, _No, it’s not a joke, you’re still not going to look like a fool_.

The deputy headmistress’ shoulders sagged in relief. She smiled, softly. A gift that she didn’t even know she gave.

“C’mon, hot pants,” Circe called her own broom to her—or rather, the broom she’d borrowed from Hecate, last time she’d visited. “We’ve got a train to catch.”

Hecate clipped down the last few steps, reaching out to take both of Ada’s hands in hers. She kept her voice low, her dark eyes drilling into Ada’s light ones. “You’ll use the charm, if you need me?”

“Yes, of course I will.” Ada squeezed Hecate’s hands, which were clammy with fear.

“I mean it, Ada. Don’t try to do something on your own just because—”

“I won’t rob you of the chance to be my white knight, yet again,” Ada assured her with a good-natured smile.

“Good,” was Hecate’s reply. Utterly serious. She returned the squeeze, holding Ada’s hands for a beat longer, as if pulling strength from them. Then, gingerly mounting her broom, she offered one last small, grateful smile before following her sister into the air.

Circe let out a whoop of joy as they zipped over the castle wall. “Get ready, bitches, the Hardbroom sisters are on the loose!”

Even from her spot on the academy steps, Ada heard Hecate hissing, “Keep your voice down, the children are _sleeping_!”

It was comforting, knowing that despite an entirely new look, underneath was the same old Hecate Hardbroom.

But oh, those jeans. Ada decided that she just might like Circe after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments/kudos/etc so far. Y'all are making this an absolutely wonderful ride, and one day I will get around to actually responding to those comments. So many have made me laugh at your wit, and made me realize that though we witch fans be few, we're really the best. Thanks again.


	6. Chapter 6

Circe and Hecate touched down in a secluded spot just outside the train station, vanishing their brooms and taking a moment to adjust their hair (Hecate’s was an absolute mess after the flight, thank goddess for untangling spells). Hecate felt a tap on her arm and turned to see her sister offering a pair of sunglasses.

“It helps,” Circe assured her. “Puts something between you and the rest of the world, gives you a little distance. Like a shielding spell.”

Hecate gratefully took the sunglasses and slipped them on. Circe put on a pair as well, giving a nod of approval to her older sister, “Now we look like total rocker babes. You ready to do this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Hecate answered. Circe looped her arm through Hecate’s, their hips occasionally bumping together comfortably as they walked towards the train station.

“I don’t think I ever really thanked you, for all this—not properly, anyways,” Circe dipped her head slightly. “But please don’t think that I’m not just swimming with gratitude, as always. I _do_ know how much I’m asking of you, I really do, Heck. And I’m so…I’m just—”

“ _Thank you_ will suffice,” Hecate placed her hand over Circe’s, which was resting on her forearm. She ran her fingers over the ridges of Circe’s knuckles, a comforting gesture she used to do when Circe had nightmares, her impossibly tiny little fists clutching onto her teddy bear for dear life. “And this was my choice. Even if you did draft me into it before I knew what was happening, I still chose to go along with this.”

“But don’t you see, Heck? It’s the fact that you had a choice and you _still_ chose to help—that’s the most marvelous part,” Circe was fervent now, her hands gripping Hecate’s bicep tighter. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, you know, I really don’t. And I don’t wish to know. You are my absolute saving grace—and I can tell by the way you’re screwing your face up that you don’t agree, but it’s true.”

Hecate hummed at that last observation, deciding not to argue over her supposed goodness. Instead, she simply said, “Well, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you, Kirk.”

Circe leaned over, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder—an awkward movement, given they were side by side and still walking. Hecate’s free hand reached up and lightly patted her sister’s cheek.

“It isn’t all sacrifice and suffering,” Hecate added. “This has given me the chance to reconnect with Max. I’d forgotten how much I missed him.”

“Glad to be of service,” Circe’s tone was light and airy again, and she no longer wore her serious look. She never did stay in any mood that was less-than-ecstatic for long. “Perhaps I can reconnect you and that other friend of yours, too. What was her name? Poppy?”

“Pippa,” Hecate ducked her head. “And no need—we’ve recently buried the hatchet.”

The confusing, tangled hatchet that still had sharp edges.

“Well, that’s good. Tell me, does she still dress in that awful neon orange, from head to toe?”

Hecate laughed at the memory. “No, pink is her signature color these days.”

“Thank great Merlin’s girdle for happy miracles. I swear, you could have found her in the dark, that orange was so terribly bright!” Circe grimaced at the thought, shaking her head.

Hecate was still smiling. She’d forgotten that detail, that year in which Pippa, determined to find a way to stand out, had outfitted herself in monochromatic ensembles, trying to find her “look”. Briefly, she’d committed herself to the most outrageous shade of orange, which was rather an unfortunate mix with her coloring. It had been during the one time that Hecate’s family had visited the school for some event or another, and apparently it had made quite an impression on young Circe. Hecate honestly couldn’t fathom how she’d forgotten.

 _You look so ravishing in black, Hiccup, but I just look sickly. It’s not fair, not fair at all!_ Pipsqueak had given a pretty little pout at the pronouncement, crossing her arms and stamping her foot. In so many ways, she’d reminded Hecate of her baby sister, who was just a toddler at the time. Perhaps that was why Hecate had loved her, so deeply and immediately that it defied all reckoning. But it was also why they’d never be more than friends, no matter how much Hecate had been enthralled by her beauty, her wit, her grace, or her charm. Oh yes, in those last few months before their big split, Hecate had been sickeningly in love—a love she’d convinced herself was one-sided and wrong, a love that she didn’t know how to pursue or express, a love she both feared and marveled at. She’d run away like a scared cat, isolating herself further and making it so much easier for Mistress Broomhead to pluck her up—that was her one regret, out of all those decisions. Of course, she wished she’d found a better way to deal with her feelings towards Pippa, a way that didn’t leave Pippa hurt and confused for so many years, a way that would have made salvaging their friendship easier and sooner. But she didn’t regret not pursuing her feelings for the blonde. If they’d gone any further, they would have destroyed one another. There would have been no going back.

History repeats itself, Hecate realized. Here she was, so deeply in love with Ada Cackle, knowing full well that any attempt to convey those feelings would only destroy the wonderful friendship they had. And that—oh, _that_ was a thought too terrible to bear. She’d gladly spend the rest of her life in this constant hell of self-deprivation, if it meant keeping Ada in her life. Ada’s kindness and Ada’s strength, her voice and her laugh, the scent of her perfume and the simple calm joy of her presence. These things had become as vital to Hecate Hardbroom as her magic—possible to live without, but impossible to fathom losing.

As usual, when Hecate’s mind was wandering, her hands came out to play, free from the constraints of her hyper self-awareness. She didn’t even realize her right hand was cradling her left wrist, her thumb rubbing soft, methodical circles on the connection charm that wrapped around it.

* * *

Ada was making her way down the hall, calling out cheery greetings to the young girls zipping by, streams of ponytails and brightly colored sashes leading the way to the dining hall. Even with third and fourth years gone, the rambunctious first and second years still made enough noise to make up for it. The fifth years were mostly sullen or half-asleep, well into the muddled mess of teendom. Ada remembered those years with a soft smile of compassion and a deep sense of gratefulness that it was well behind her.

Those were the years that she and Agatha truly began to splinter. Agatha was away at Wormwood’s, though they wrote letters every day—her resentment and loneliness was evident in every stroke, and it only inspired the same feelings in Ada, who felt as if she’d lost half of her own soul. At the time, she’d been at-odds with her mother, astounded by Alma’s cruelty in separating them. She’d silently sworn that she’d never take over the academy (that would _really_ show Mother, prove that they weren’t simply her property, to be sent away wherever and whenever she pleased). Oh, she’d meant it, and all her vehemence and sorrow had been absolutely real at the time, but now Ada saw it through a lens of soft amusement. She’d been so naïve then. So unaware of where life would take her, or that she’d end up here, exactly where she was meant to be.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an odd sensation. At first, a warm tingling on her wrist. She glanced down at the source—the pewter bangle.

 _Hecate_. Her heart leapt, even at just the thought of her name. Once the initial shock died down, she realized she could feel the other woman’s hand, just as if she was truly standing there, holding Ada’s wrist. Hecate’s thumb was rubbing circles around the flat disc, absentminded and worried, Ada guessed. She’d seen Hecate repeat that gesture a hundred times, on the smooth back of her timepiece, whenever she was stressed or deep in thought.

Ada mentally figured out the time. Ah, yes. They would have landed by now, they would be at the train station this very moment. Hecate’s social anxiety would be in top form, surrounded by so many people with so many loud sounds and moving pieces, so many opportunities to make a mistake. Ada doubted that Hecate even realized she was touching the bangle at this moment, but still, she found a small joy in knowing that she was still reaching out to her, even if subconsciously.

There was also some measure of relief in feeling that she could actually help, in some small way. Ada stopped, moving to the side of the corridor so that the girls could continue to breakfast. She gently clasped her hand over the bangle, giving her wrist a single, reassuring squeeze. She waited a few seconds, then released and repeated the gesture. _I’m here, I’m here, it’s ok, I’m here. Breathe, just breathe…_

* * *

Hecate nearly jumped out of her own skin when she first felt the odd pressure around her wrist. With a sudden flush of foolishness, she realized that she’d been playing with her connection bangle, and it must have alerted Ada. Ada, who was now slowly gripping and releasing her wrist with reassurance, as if she somehow sensed Hecate’s current emotional state.

 _Not a tough feat, Hardbroom. You’re always either scared or pissed._ Hecate closed her eyes briefly, banishing the negative thought. That wasn’t important, not right now. She’d obviously worried Ada with her neurotic behavior, and now the headmistress was trying to make sure she was alright. It would be a while before they were settled into their compartment and able to take out maglets, so she’d have to use the bangle itself to convey her message.

But maybe she could wait, just a moment. Just…allow Ada to keep holding on to her, just a few seconds more. The steady pressure was calming, and Hecate tried timing her breaths to the rhythm. She tried not to think about other activities involving two bodies finding sync, thankfully the simple warmth of a ghost touch was enough to keep her relatively incapable of thought.

 _Thank you, Ada._ She put all of that intention into the grip of her own hand around her bangle, hoping Ada understood. _I’m fine now, I’m fine, oh goddess I’m sorry for worrying you, please know I’m fine._

In response, she got two quick taps on her wrist, light and playful. Message received. She felt a measure of relief.

* * *

Ada couldn’t help it, she smiled all through breakfast. It was absolutely ridiculous, how victorious she felt about being able to offer some kind of support to Hecate. But after so many years and so many times of Hecate Hardbroom putting herself on the line to save Ada Cackle, it was nice, being able to repay the favor. Granted it wasn’t getting trapped in a painting, or staging a coup of bylaws, or pleading with the Grand Wizard, or offering to give up her magic, but it was something. Something to prove that Ada could be just as vital to Hecate as the deputy was to her headmistress.

 _And why, exactly, do you want to prove yourself so necessary?_ Ada didn’t give the question much attention, knowing full well that she already knew the answer. Nothing could dampen her spirits, not this morning.

After breakfast, she returned to her office, where her maglet was dinging quietly with a new message notification.

 _Thank you_. Simple, spidery scrawl she’d recognize anywhere, even if the _H.H._ hadn’t been written above it.

She smiled to herself as she wrote back, _Anytime, dear. And I mean it, Hecate—I’m always here, whenever you need me._

A bit bold, but today’s earlier joy had given her a surge of confidence. She bit her lip, wondering if it had been too much. But Hecate was a bit oblivious, so she probably wouldn’t read beyond the surface of her words. Her maglet chimed again, and Hecate’s response appeared.

_That means more than you will ever know, dearest Ada._

Dearest Ada. _Dearest_. Ada was beaming and blushing like a girl being told she was pretty by her first crush. It was just a word. A simple word. It meant nothing, and yet ( _andyetandyetandyet—oh, yet!_ ), coming from Hecate, it meant everything.

She wasn’t sure that she could ever stop smiling.

* * *

Hecate clutched her maglet in her hands as she smiled softly at the message before her. She’d saved Ada’s response, like it was some grand declaration of love, like the heartsick ridiculous fop that she was.

 _I’m always here, whenever you need me_. Of course, Ada was being her usual kind self. Words she’d probably repeated a thousand times, to worried students and concerned staff, to dear friends and distant family members. Still, she’d extended them to Hecate. It wasn’t as if Hecate hadn’t known before that she could depend on Ada, but it was quite nice, having it written down.

She’d been a bit forward, calling Ada _dearest_ in her last reply, but the distance between them had emboldened her, knowing she’d be gone for over 24 hours and Ada would have most likely forgotten the slip before she returned.

She was tempted to take Ada up on her offer, to awaken her connection bangle again and feel Ada’s comforting touch on her skin. But that would be wrong. Ada had innocently offered to help, and Hecate’s intentions were…less than innocent. That would be an abuse of the situation, an abuse of their friendship, and even Hecate wasn’t too dense to realize that.

“Feeling better?” Maximillian’s voice gently broke into her thoughts. She looked up at him, giving a small nod and a soft smile as she vanished her maglet again. When the train had started to move, she’d felt a little woozy, not accustomed to moving without having control of the speed and direction—he’d given her a peppermint to help with the motion sickness. Not for the first time, she pitied the nonmagical beings who used this form of transportation regularly.

Max had been wise enough to get them a private compartment, so the three could use magic when necessary, without looking over their shoulders to make sure no one saw. Circe sat across from them, her long legs extended to rest on the empty seat beside Max. She was thoroughly unaffected by the train, focusing intently on some gossip magazine that she’d purchased on the platform. Hecate shuddered at the thought that someone could actually make a living stalking other people and sharing their secrets with the world—or worse, creating secrets that never really existed.

Hecate turned her face to the window again, admiring the scenery as they flew by. It was different, seeing the world from so close up, instead of high away on a broom. So much more detail.

Max’s hand slipped into hers, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. He’d held her hand on the platform, too, leading her through the weaving throng of bodies, helping her stay grounded and focused. That was her Max, her darling friend of childhood—he’d always been able to sense when she was feeling overwhelmed, and had always found a way to bring her back from the brink of anxiety.

She found her eyes slowly closing, the steady motion of the train lulling her into light and easy slumber. She tumbled from dream to dream, each bright and fleeting, moments with Ada. A smile in the garden, a brush of fingertips over a piece of paper on a desk. A cup of tea, the feeling of a hand around her wrist, tender and firm and always, always there.

* * *

After the train ride, there was still a half-hour flight by broomstick to the Hardbroom house. Circe wisely suggested that they transform back to their traditional robes, and Hecate was relieved to see that Max has eschewed his usual modern attire for something her mother would approve of. Of course, he could show up wearing a potato sack, and Hazel Hardbroom would approve—he was a Spellborne, and his bloodline was worth more than gold to someone like Hazel, who clawed for every step up the social ladder.

The trio landed in the little dirt lane that ran past the Hardbroom residence, which seemed larger than Hecate had remembered. In her youth, it had been much too small, with nowhere to escape the roiling tension or the sound of harsh voices, and filled to the brim with five children, always competing for space and love and places to hide when the yelling started.

Circe took an unsteady breath, slipping her hand in Hecate’s and threading their fingers together, a protective shield that could never be broken, though their parents had tried, many a time.

“We can do this, Heck,” Circe whispered, though her tone held little certainty. If Hecate’s own physical reaction was anything to go by, she knew Circe’s stomach was clenching and clawing, writhing with nerves and adrenaline.

“Of course we can,” Hecate forced herself to sound unaffected, for Circe. She offered a smile to Max, who waited patiently. She feared it came across as more of a grimace, but she didn’t have the strength to make it more believable. Max gallantly offered his arm, which she gratefully took, never letting go of Circe with her other hand.

By the time they reached the little iron-wrought gate, the front door swung open soundlessly. A figure stepped out, and Hecate had to remind herself to breathe.

 _Mother_.

Hazel Hardbroom moved towards them, arms open in a gesture of welcome that held no true warmth. “Circe, Hecate, well met. And Mr. Spellborne, well met.”

She was, as always, in simple black robes. Nothing showy, no billowing sleeves or sweeping train, no concession to vanity, which so oft distracted a witch from her purpose and her true potential. A small pearl and hematite brooch rested on her throat, arranged in a modified version of the Hardbroom crest, keeping the high neck of her dress together. At her waist was a small set of skeleton keys, a symbol of her role as mistress of the house and current head of her family line. Her mother, though still alive, had given up the title and all its duties many years ago, most likely at Hazel’s insistence.

“Well met, Mother,” Hecate kept her posture letter-perfect, giving a small curtsy, just as she’d been taught from infancy. There was still something she’d done wrong, she knew, because there had never been a time in which Hazel had been pleased with her deportment.

Circe didn’t respond at all. Thankfully she’d also given up her usual green robes for black, though they were still billowy and loose, still as untamed as her personality and her magic.

“Well met, Mrs. Hardbroom,” Max flashed his most winning smile as he returned the customary gesture of greeting. Hecate once again thanked Circe for choosing him—if anyone could keep Hazel at an even keel, it would be Max, with his good looks and even better nature, with his impeccable bloodline and his prestigious position at the European Council of Craft. Hecate had been smart enough to write ahead and warn her mother that her intended was none other than Maximillian Spellborne, knowing Hazel would want to appropriately greet such a highborn guest according to his station.

“You’ve arrived just in time for afternoon tea,” Hazel turned and motioned towards the open door. She made no move to hug her daughters, much less touch them in any shape or form. Circe ducked her head and skittered slightly to the other side of Hecate, using her elder sister as a shield as they filed down the cobblestone path and into the house.

Like most magical homes, the foyer had a high ceiling, its walls painted a dark espresso. The Family Tree, painted in now-fading gold, spread across the walls, portraits of its members staring back in flat and watery-white oblivion. The spot marked _Hester Hardbroom_ held no portrait—it was customary not to paint a likeness until the member was deceased, based on an old superstition. However, Hecate was certain that when her grandmother did pass away, her spot would remain blank. A mark of dishonor upon the family line. From Hester came only one line, _Hazel Hardbroom_ , who joined with _Arion Buckthorn_ , producing five branches. Of those five, the one labeled _Hecate_ _Hardbroom_ was written the largest, the most prominent.

One day, she’d wear that brooch of pearl and hematite, and those skeleton keys around her waist. That was the expectation, anyways. Hecate Hardbroom, first born daughter of a first born mother of first born grandmother, on for six generations of firstborns. _Firstborn, strength of my blood, child of my life, continuation of my heart and hope of my future_. That was the incantation spoken over her at the hour of her birth, her mother’s hand shaking with relief and fatigue as she sprinkled her daughter’s infant head with the life water that had rushed from between her legs just hours before, heralding her arrival. Blessed and sealed and knitted with spells to keep from harm.

Oh, how deeply she was going to fail. Never would there be children, never would those words be uttered by her over a new life, never would her name become a trellis for more names, more faces, more firstborn daughters, even more powerful than their mothers.

She’d never admitted to anyone just how hereditary her power had been. Yes, she’d studied hard, she’d pushed herself to develop her skills and abilities beyond what genetics had given, but genetics had given her quite a head start. The first child always possessed the most power, and firstborn daughters of firstborn daughters were even more powerful. For six generations, the Hardbrooms had only compacted this, generating powerful witches like Hecate and even Circe, who despite not being the eldest, was still more magical than the firstborn of other bloodlines, and she’d never ever _applied_ herself when it came to developing her craft.

 _All that power, gone to waste_. That’s what her mother would say—what her mother _had_ said, countless times over the years, when Hecate was younger and still considered viable marriage material. It had taken a long time for Hazel to let go of that torch, to accept that Hecate was happily a spinster, a disaster upon the family line.

And now that flame would be reignited. Hecate felt her stomach quiver at the realization of just how much this would displease Mother, once the fake engagement was called off. Oh, she’d known it would happen. But being back here, back in her mother’s austere and imposing presence, had acutely reminded her of just how _intense_ her mother’s ire would be.

She forced herself to swallow, her tongue feeling dry and too large for her mouth. Circe had moved quickly towards the drawing room, uncharacteristically quiet and demure, and Max was close behind, graciously ignoring the tension radiating from every pore of the house. Hazel’s voice stopped Hecate, forcing her to hang back.

“Well done, Hecate. Well done indeed.”

There was a time when she would have given anything to hear those words. Now they only filled her with dread, knowing that praise would soon be wrenched away and replaced with barbs of venom and vitriol.

Hecate merely nodded, not daring to meet her mother’s eye. Max and Circe were in the drawing room now, her sense of security gone with them. Hazel moved easily, like a shark in water, cutting her off, keeping her in the foyer.

“What is wrong, Hecate?” Of course, Mother knew. She always knew.

“Nothing,” Hecate forced herself to look up, to make eye contact with the dark eyes that were so like her own, so like Circe’s, and yet so different. “It has been a tiring journey.”

Hazel reached forward, practically jabbing Hecate in her abdomen as she pressed her hand further in. Hecate could feel the tendrils of magic rippling through her. She tried to step back, but her mother’s free hand snapped up, clutching her arm to keep her in place.

“So you’re not already carrying his child, then,” Hazel announced flatly. “That is a good thing. It certainly wouldn’t do, to have your firstborn be a bastard.”

Hecate felt her lungs compress with shock, body hollowed out from the sheer violation of her mother’s magic. She stuttered and fumbled, blood pounding in her ears, “I—of course not, I would—”

“I’m just trying to ascertain exactly how _you_ would catch the attention of Maximillian Spellborne VII, a notorious womanizer and confirmed bachelor for twenty years solid,” Hazel didn’t seem to notice her daughter’s inability to breathe. “Given the hasty news of your engagement, what else should I expect?”

_What else should I expect, except that you became wild and disgraceful, like your grandmother? How else could you convince a man to marry you?_

The keen cut of truth physically pained Hecate. Because in reality, she couldn’t catch Max’s attention (couldn’t want it any less, given her own preference for witches). Still, her mother’s doubt hurt. Of course, she knew her mother had seen her as a plain and gangly child (in fact, her mother’s doubts about the depth of her friendship with Pippa Pentangle had been just as damaging as the taunts from the other girls at school), and never saw her with the kindness that mothers were supposed to extend to their offspring—but apparently her personality and power were also so lacking that nothing about Hecate could be charming or attractive to anyone. Even if it was true, it still stung to be reminded of it.

“We…we’ve known each other forever,” Hecate returned feebly, looking down at the floor. She had no strength left to make eye contact. “And Max is kind—he’s a good man, he doesn’t—”

“Doesn’t want a pretty wife?” Hazel drawled, her eyebrow arching in sarcastic disbelief. “Don’t be a fool, Hecate. Every man wants something beautiful to look at. I’m assuming there is going to be an arrangement, then?”

“Arrangement?” Hecate was well and truly lost.

“Once you’ve produced heirs,” Hazel crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers giving a slight flutter, as if indicating a continued line of yet-uncreated children. “He will be free to pursue other…interests.”

Once the ripple of shock subsided, Hecate fought back the urge to ask if that was her parents’ arrangement. Her father was an attractive man, her mother’s sourness ruined what good looks she did have. Father was gone, long and often, during her childhood. Had that been why?

Again, it stung, realizing that her mother couldn’t accept the idea of someone loving her daughter, someone wanting to be with her, not without stipulation or the ability to go elsewhere for pleasure.

After the pain, there was a wash of anger. It had been years since she’d been face-to-face with her mother, years since anyone had been so directly spiteful, and during those years, she’d developed a better sense of self. She’d shot down pompous parents and even squared off with the Grand Wizard himself, fighting tooth and nail for the respect that she was due as a deputy headmistress—thankfully, among her many faults was an overabundance of pride and a temper to back it up. Both of which currently bayed for blood.

Hecate summoned her courage, balling her fists so that her nails dug into her palms like spikes, keeping her straight and on her feet. Taking a step closer, she hissed, infusing her voice with a strength she really didn’t possess, “Some of us have all the skills necessary to keep our husbands _interested_.”

She watched the shock spread over Hazel’s face, and the slight disgust as her daughter’s vulgarity. Hecate brushed past, quickly moving into the drawing room so that her mother could not see how she trembled with fear and anger. Oh, Hazel would find a way to make her pay for that, she knew. But it would be worth it.

“Everything alright, darling?” Max kept his tone light and a smooth smile on his face, but she saw the worry behind his eyes. Of course, coming back here had reminded him of their childhood, of her mother’s true nature, of just how tenuous their game was.

“Yes,” she smiled as well, reaching out to lightly squeeze his hand in reassurance. Again, she was thankful for his visit last weekend—it didn’t feel odd or stilted or forced, touching him, talking sweetly with him. It was reassuring.

Hazel entered the room, still unable to glance over at them. Hecate felt a small measure of satisfaction.

 _I can’t believe I just did that_ , she wondered at her own boldness. While she still agreed with her mother’s assessment that she was particularly incapable of being loved on a romantic scale, she also knew that it was simply bullying on Hazel’s part. She may be no great beauty, but she was more than just her looks—she was her powers, her abilities, and yes, even her heart.

 _Your heart is so unerringly good, Hecate Hardbroom. If only you could see that._ Ada had said that to her once, years ago. Hecate had kept that moment locked in her memory, like some faded rose, occasionally taking it out during her darkest moments. Knowing she’d earned the trust and friendship of someone like Ada Cackle had been a beacon of hope on a sea of self-doubt, more than once. She had goodness in her. And where there was good, there was worthiness.

If only she could hold on to that feeling, that certainty, just a day more. She glanced down at the bangle on her wrist, once again stifling an urge to touch it, to touch Ada, to reignite a few moments of connection again. This was meant to be a safety feature, a way for Hecate to have peace of mind about leaving the academy so understaffed, and here she was, turning into a needy addict, misusing its purpose entirely.

Well, not misusing the charm’s _original_ purpose, she mentally amended. It was designed for the silly need for connection between lovers.

 _Which you and Ada certainly are not._ She clenched her fists again, trying to focus on the conversation. She just needed distraction, something to keep her mind from thinking of Ada.

“And you are still enjoying that little school of yours?” Hazel asked, her tone filled with false lightness. Her choice of words were meant to make Hecate feel little, too. Little and insignificant and an absolute failure.

“I am,” Hecate slipped a rod of steel into her spine, keeping her own words just as airy as her mother’s. So much for trying not to think of Ada—apparently Cackle’s was the current topic of discussion.

“It is quite a lovely place,” Circe piped up, offering a warm smile to Hecate. “I visited, not too long ago.”

Thankfully, the reason for the visit was not mentioned.

“The headmistress is quite charming,” Circe added. “She thinks highly of Hecate, you can tell.”

Hecate couldn’t stop herself from blushing, and barely stopped herself from asking Circe how she could tell.

“Well, that’s not hard to do,” Max interjected smoothly, placing his hand on Hecate’s knee. “After all, there’s a lot to admire.”

Hazel’s mouth twisted into an unimpressed expression, obviously disagreeing with that statement. However, she kept her tone civil, “Seems there has been a lot _less_ to admire, over the past few years, given her lack of activity in the academic field. When _do_ you plan to release another book, Hecate?”

 _Lack of activity._ As if guiding the next generation of witches and molding them into competed and powerful beings was laziness. Hecate took a shallow breath before replying, “I’m not sure. One generally needs something to write about, before starting to write.”

Hazel hummed in agreement. “Yes, I suppose you don’t have much new research to go on, these days.”

“Being deputy headmistress of one of the oldest and most prestigious witching academies in the country _does_ keep me from devoting every single second to the cauldron,” Hecate returned easily, her tone as arched as her brows. “But my work in that arena is just as vital, if not more so.”

Hazel’s dark eyes flicked heavenward, exasperated at her daughter’s idiocy. She held out a hand in supplication, “Maximillian, you must simply tell my daughter that locking herself away to play school marm to a bunch of useless children will never give her talent the recognition it deserves. A witch with her powers must actually _use_ them.”

Once, Hecate would have reveled in what small compliment her mother had just given, acknowledging her power and her talents. But now she could see it for what it was worth—in Hazel’s eyes, it was a reflection upon herself, a testament to her own abilities as a witch, to have birthed and raised such a powerful being. Any pride she may have professed for her daughter was truly pride for herself. Hecate's gaze flicked to the shelves on the wall, where her published works rested. Thick leatherbound spines pristine, never opened, never read. Just trophies. In her first book, she'd dutifully penned a dedication to her parents. A dedication never seen, never acknowledged. Once, that had hurt, knowing they'd never read it. Now she took a measure of satisfaction in knowing they'd never see that pitiful attempt at gaining their approval.

Max’s hand was on the small of her back, bringing her back to the present, gently bolstering her against the criticism.

“She does use her powers, every day,” Max countered, never dropping his charming smile. “And I think it’s admirable, devoting oneself to guiding the next generation—just think of how many great witches we’ll have, after they’ve learned from one of the best! There truly isn’t a more selfless thing I could imagine. It’s one of the reasons I love her so.”

Hecate blushed at the praise, ducking her head to hide her absolute disbelief.

“Besides, I think we can all agree that using power simply for vanity’s sake is far too vulgar for a well-bred witch,” he gave a wink in Hazel’s direction, as if they were sharing a delicious secret. Hecate knew full well that he was making a jab at her mother, and given Hazel’s uneasy smile, she did as well.

“Still, a mother can wish for her daughter’s continued success,” Hazel returned, her tone a shade cooler than before. With a slight flutter of her fingers, she summoned her teacup back into her hands. “And what of your coven, Hecate?”

Another attempt to find pride. A witch’s coven was not only her chosen family, her sisterhood, but also her witnesses—it was during coven rituals that a witch could show her true power, and her coven sisters could spread the word of that power, far and wide.

“In excellent health,” came Hecate’s terse reply. Granted, her coven was comprised of the staff—one of the rules at Cackle’s that she’d first baulked at, hesitant to perform sacred rituals with complete strangers. Covens were meant to be comprised of witches and wizards with similar specialties, similar interests, or at least similar goals. However, Ada had been insistent that the staff see one another as family, and they did hold the same goal of giving their students the best education possible, even if their viewpoints differed on exactly _how_ to give such an education. Now Hecate was grateful for such a rule. She was more familiar with Gwen’s power, and Dimity’s, and could even sense their magical signatures when there was danger. She’d performed rituals that she never would have even considered, if she’d been in a traditional coven that had been filled with witches who only possessed skills and interests similar to her own.

Besides, she’d seen what it was like, being a part of a coven with one goal, one pursuit. Memories of Mistress Broomhead’s rituals had plagued her dreams more than once over the years. She’d take the mismatched staff of Cackle’s over that dark and determined ring of young women any day.

“I won’t waste time with asking after your coven, Circe,” Hazel looked down at her tea as if it were far more interesting than the current conversation. “Seeing as you don’t have one.”

“Just me and the badgers,” Circe chirped back happily, though her smile was certainly strained. “Though one cannot always count of them to show up—punctuality isn’t exactly their strong suit, seeing as they can’t actually tell time.”

She was speaking mainly to Hecate and Max now, since Hazel had yet to glance in her direction. Max chuckled at the quip, and Hecate saw the relief flooding her sister’s face.

“Speaking of animals—I do believe that’s a wren on your garden gate,” Circe stood, gaze focused out the window. “They’re usually busy little fellows, so I’ll just pop out and make sure she doesn’t have any news for me.”

Circe was out the door in a flash. Hazel looked heavenward again, as if her daughter’s abilities were a burden too great to bear. Max watched Circe as she hurried across the lawn, leaning over to greet the diminutive bird, chatting away as if it were a great friend.

“You know,” he leaned closer to Hecate, his voice low and filled with amused admiration. “Circe grew up exactly as I imagined she would.”

“That makes one of us,” Hazel said flatly. With a sigh, she shook her head, “It’s my fault, I suppose. I was too lax with her, though goddess knows she was a willful child.”

“Willful?” Hecate couldn’t choke back the word, though she tried to bite it in half as it slipped between her teeth, trying to stop the flood of anger that rushed through her veins.

Hazel blinked, surprised. “Oh, Hecate, you remember how she was.”

 _I do. Small and shaking and silent, two big brown eyes and one threadbare teddy that remained permanently clamped over her mouth, too terrified of making even the tiniest of sounds._ Hecate felt herself trembling with anger again, too shocked to even voice her thoughts aloud. To have Hazel fill every inch of this house with fear and dread for years was one thing—but to twist history so viciously, to pretend as if she’d been nothing less than a perfect and patient mother, while her two hopeless and horrible daughters destroyed her dreams—oh, how it made Hecate _seethe_.

“Perhaps our visitor has news for me, too,” Hecate rose to her feet, her muscles aching with the effort it took to stop her shaking, to hold all this anger and this hurting hatred beneath her skin and behind her teeth. Woodenly, she made her way outside, keenly aware of the fact that she was still being watched from the window, never fully free of scrutiny or disapproval. Still, just being out of that house caused the bones in her shoulder blades to unknit themselves slightly, just a fraction less tense.

Oh, once she left this time, she was certain that she'd never come back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, yes, I did totally take that family tree idea from Harry Potter's 12 Grimmauld Place. Clever of you to notice!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, mental casting note: Harriet Walter as Hazel Hardbroom. She'd be the bee's knees in such a role.


	7. Chapter 7

Circe heard her elder sister approaching, and turned back with a warm smile. Now she was scratching the top of the wren’s head as if it were a puppy, and the bird trilled happily in response.

“Apparently we should expect an early frost this year,” Circe announced, as if Hecate could care about such a thing. “And Father’s being mean, putting protective spells around his orchard and keeping these dear things out.”

That was not surprising. Hecate took a deep, shaking breath, still not trusting herself to speak just yet.

“So, are you going to have sex with Maximillian?”

Hecate felt her brain implode at the question, “Wha-why-why would you ask such a thing?”

“Is that a no, then?”

“Yes. I mean, no—I mean, yes, it is a no,” Hecate couldn’t stop shaking her head.

“Right. Would you mind if I did? Eventually, I mean. Not right now—gosh, that would be _terribly_ bad form, shacking up with my sister’s fake lover while he’s visiting our parents—”

“Circe!”

“What?” She was genuinely confused.

“This…this is not…appropriate,” Hecate struggled to shuffle her thoughts into coherence. “Max is—I can’t just _give permission_ for something like that. He’s not my property.”

“Oh, I know that,” Circe rolled her eyes. “I just want to make sure I’m not stepping on any toes.”

Hecate shook her head again. While she certainly held no romantic feelings for Max, she still wasn’t sure she liked the idea of Circe being with him. It wasn’t jealousy, just…concern. Circe was a free spirit, Max was a confirmed bachelor. In theory, it was the perfect match for a fun fling. But what if, just this once, feelings got in the way? What if one of them got their heart broken?

It wasn’t her job to protect the world from broken hearts, she knew. But these were two people she cared about deeply, and the risk seemed too great.

 _Hecate Hardbroom, you’re such a coward. Even on other people’s behalf._ She had to agree with her inner voice on that one.

A shadow passed over them. Circe looked up, frowning slightly.

“Father’s home,” she announced. “I suppose the evening’s in for a real treat, now.”

While it was their mother’s anger and sullenness that had been the main source of tension in their home, it was their father’s presence which stoked it. If Hazel had been civil and somewhat reserved before, her bitter sharpness would certainly show itself now.

“Cheer up,” Circe reached out, booping the tip of Hecate’s nose. “We only have about sixteen hours of this left—then we’re free.”

Pure bravado, on Circe’s part. And Hecate loved her for it. Growing up in this house had been hard, but it had been hardest on Circe. The youngest, the last to leave. The one left alone with those two, without a sibling shield, without an ally, without protection. Hecate had visited as often as she could, but she knew it hadn’t been enough. Circe had never blamed her for it, though, and for that she was grateful.

Hecate reached out, tucking one of Circe’s wayward curls behind her ear, which she gave a light, affectionate tug. _I love your ears, and your button nose, from the tip of your head to your wiggly toes!_ How Circe had wriggled and giggled when Hecate sang that to her, tickling her feet or tweaking her nose as she dressed her for the day, or put her to bed. A lifetime ago, a small warm candle of a memory in a house of sorrowful shadows.

Circe remembered, too, beaming at her sister like she had a thousand times before. She took her sister’s hand, giving it a small squeeze of reassurance.

“We have time for a short walk before dinner, don’t we?” Circe looked over the garden gate, to the narrow dirt lane.

Hecate glanced back at the house, knowing she’d abandoned Max inside. From the window, she saw movement. He was waving at her. Circe noticed at well, and pantomimed that they were going for a stroll. Max mimed back his assent, and within seconds, he appeared beside them.

“Your father’s home,” he informed them.

“We saw him ride in,” Circe replied, cocking her head to the side. Her little wren friend flew to her shoulder, perching next to her and gently tugging at her hair. “Which is why we’re leaving the premises. Always best to let them air out their bitterness against each other before attempting to muddle back in.”

Hecate checked her timepiece. Dinner was always served promptly, but they had plenty of time to walk and then prepare themselves.

“So where to?” Max opened the garden gate with a grand flair.

Circe voiced Hecate’s thoughts, “Anywhere but here.”

* * *

As usual, Arion Buckthorn sat at the head of the table, though he knew just as well as anyone that it was a farce. He was the son of a lesser wizarding family, poor in magical abilities but rich in gold, and his marriage to Hazel Hardbroom had been beneficial to both families. As was tradition, the stronger bloodline continued, meaning all his children were Hardbrooms instead of Buckthorns. Though Hecate now wondered if any other illegitimate offspring existed, born out of her parents’ arrangement.

By all means, Hazel should have married someone slightly more powerful, but her own mother’s disgrace had lessened her chances, and so Arion had been suitable enough—a fact which she never let him forget, Hecate was certain. The bitterness oozing between the two at the dinner table was palpable.

Was this how all marriages went? Hecate wasn’t sure. She thought of Algernon and Gwen, and how they still spoke so sweetly to each other, even after all these years. Granted, so much of that time had been spent apart, what with him being turned into a frog. And technically, they weren’t married.

She tried to imagine spending fifty-two years with someone. Fifty-two years with Ada. She ducked her head at the thought, too wonderful to bear. They certainly wouldn’t end up like that, would they? No, impossible. There was nothing Ada could do that would make Hecate treat her so disdainfully. She was too good, too kind. Oh, she certainly wasn’t perfect—Ada had her faults just like any other, Hecate knew, and they’d had their fights before as well. But there truly seemed to be nothing that could possibly ever drive them apart, not entirely, not forever.

 _Stop yourself right now, Hecate Hardbroom_ , her inner voice reprimanded. _This is getting far too dangerous—imaging silly little moments like holding her hand is one thing, but creating a fantasy relationship, a half-century marriage, that’s insane._

Insanity being an established Hardbroom trait as well, thanks to her grandmother. Circe seemed to be following that route as well, with her impulsivity and wildness. Hecate was already destined to fail on so many levels, she really shouldn’t add to the list.

Once again, Maximillian saved the day. He had a way of listening that made you feel like the most important person in the room, like everything you said was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard. And even Arion Buckthorn was not immune to this charm. At one point, Hecate glanced across the table to Circe, who gave an amused lift of her eyebrows. Neither could remember their father talking this much or this openly.

And Max had enough charm and attention left over to soothe Hazel as well. Hecate hated small talk—the task of wooing two sour-faced individuals into smiling and nodding in agreement seemed herculean. She thought he would have to be exhausted completely, by the time dinner was finished.

Still, Hecate held her own, in some small ways. She smiled at the right places, and easily took his hand whenever he told her parents the story of how they’d reconnected, after all these years (it was a story they’d concocted during one of their mirror calls, but they’d kept it close to the truth and said it was due to Circe). Max even looked at her adoringly, as if she were the most marvelous thing he’d ever seen. She briefly considered conjuring up an acting prize for him, once this was all over. He’d find it a wonderful joke, but truly, he’d be worthy of it.

Once dinner was finished, they begged off for the night, citing exhaustion from their travels. In that moment, Hecate saw a glint in her mother’s eye and knew that the moment of retribution for her earlier distasteful comment had arrived.

“You’ll stay in the west bedroom,” Hazel informed them, motioning towards the staircase. “Circe, you’ll be in your old room.”

“I’m sorry—which of us will be in the west bedroom?” Hecate was slightly confused.

“Both of you.”

Hecate went absolutely pale. Beside her, she felt Circe freeze up as well.

“What?” Hazel feigned nonchalant obliviousness. “We are not so entirely old-fashioned, Hecate. Goddess knows, you’re certainly old enough to spend the night with a man in your room.”

A quip about her age and a way of calling her earlier bluff. Hecate had to give it to her mother—Hazel always knew how to win on multiple fronts with a single stroke.

Max’s hand was on the small of her back, warm and weighted and comforting. “Thank you, Mrs. Hardbroom. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Indeed. Pleasant rest, Mr. Spellborne.”

No well wishes for her daughters. None were expected.

The only thing that kept Hecate from sputtering out a protest was the sheer determination not to let her mother win. So instead, she looped her arm around Max, pulling him closer and whispering a quick _thank you_ in his ear. Again, Max delivered above and beyond, because he gave a low, knowing chuckle in response—making the simple exchange seem much less innocent than it truly was.

He leaned over as well, quietly muttering, “If she wants to embarrass you, you should just embarrass her back.”

She hummed in agreement, looking over her shoulder as they ascended the stairs behind Circe. The livid expression on her mother’s face was enough to make her smirk. She felt oddly triumphant, until they reached the west bedroom.

Circe was in the hallway, her face filled with an odd queasiness. Her hands, usually expressive things, fluttered haplessly, like birds stunned by flying into a window. “I…I’m actually going to sleep outside, I think. I’m more accustomed to it, to—openness, and stars. So I’ll be in the garden, if you need me.”

She reached out with her last words, a clammy hand clutching Hecate’s wrist. Hecate forced a smile for Circe’s sake. “We’ll be fine. Pleasant rest, Kirk.”

Circe smiled again, small and relieved. Hecate understood the desire not to sleep in her old room, not to reawaken that kaleidoscope of memory and shadow. And Maximillian was kind enough not to ask questions, though he probably could guess the reasoning—after all, he’d grown up with them, and had spent the last ten hours being subjected to her parents’ personalities all over again. Honestly, he probably wished he could join Circe in the garden.

“Pleasant rest, sweet sister,” Circe leaned in, giving Hecate a kiss on the cheek. “Well met til the morrow, Mr. Spellborne.”

Max gave a nod of return. “Pleasant rest, Circe.”

She transferred away with a slight _pop_ , one which Hecate would duly scold a fifth year for producing. A sign of low technical skill, and a bit gauche—not that Circe would give a flying toss about either of those.

Hecate took a deep breath and opened to the door to the west bedroom.

Were all beds this small?

“Don’t worry,” Max kept his voice low, as if he feared being heard through the walls. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Nonsense,” Hecate chided, trying to sound more nonchalant than she felt. “We’re adults, and I’ve certainly shared a bed before, haven’t you?”

He grinned mischievously, and she blushed slightly at the implication. He held up his hands in mock surrender, “I promise to keep your virtue intact, Miss Hardbroom.”

Hecate rolled her eyes at his melodramatic words, his playfulness melting the tension she’d held in her shoulders. “I would be more concerned for _your_ safety, Mr. Spellborne. One stray move and I could obliterate you with a snap of my fingers.”

“My fiancée’s a kinky one, I see,” he gave a wink and made his way to the bed, which still seemed impossibly small. With a snap of his fingers, he was changed into a pajama set, slipping between the covers as if he’d spent a thousand nights in this room. “We do have to get some sleep, though. I can’t imagine tomorrow will be much more bearable.”

“Probably less so,” Hecate admitted, moving forward as well. She magicked into a full length gown, taking the other side of the bed. Max shifted slightly, giving her more room. She waved her hand, extinguishing the lights.

Oh, this was awkward again, with nothing but the sound of breathing as they tried to go to sleep. Hecate could feel her pulse pounding, hyper-aware of every shift of the sheet, every creak of the bed. She clutched her timepiece—normally she didn’t wear it at night (jewelry chain plus loose hair equals pain and disaster), but she needed it, needed some kind of safety blanket. Her thumb moved in small circles around the clock’s back, worn smooth by years of that same repetitive movement.

“You know, your dad was nicer than I remember,” Max spoke quietly.

“Well, you did charm him with your attentive listening routine,” Hecate returned dryly. Inwardly, she was grateful for the conversation, for the words that filled with awful buzzing silence.

“That wasn’t a routine. I find him genuinely fascinating. As I do all people.”

She gave a huff of amusement.

“I _do_ , Heck.” His voice was lined with a smile, and she knew he was joking, on some level. “And your mother—an absolute treasure, as always.”

That was a joke, for certain. Hecate found herself chuckling. “And today she was on her best behavior—she so wants to impress you.”

After a beat, Max spoke into the darkness again. “How bad is it gonna be, when you tell them it’s been called off?”

His tone was cautious, and kind. He knew the answer.

Hecate made a small sound of uncertainty. “Hard to say, but it won’t be pleasant.”

“We’ll have to make sure it’s my fault.” There was her darling Max, always trying to be noble. She didn’t want to discourage him with the truth—Hazel would blame Hecate, no matter what. Finding fault was her greatest skill, and she had a surgeon’s precision.

“It’s alright,” Hecate tried to sound nonchalant. “I can take a few months of her complaints, if it spares Circe.”

“Hecate Hardbroom, you really are too good for this world.” He spoke with full sincerity, but Hecate couldn’t believe it to be true. As if he read her mind, he continued, “And your disbelief of that fact doesn’t make it any less true. This whole charade is just a testament to how good you are. To be honest, that’s the main reason I agreed to help. Because I knew you would say yes, I knew you would put yourself on the line for your sister. And I…I wanted you to have an ally, a true friend who would help you through it.”

She felt her throat tighten with unshed tears. “And you’ve been that, Max. You truly have. I couldn’t have asked for a better fake fiancé.”

The last bit was an attempt at levity, and she thanked him silently yet again for giving a light chuckle in response.

“One more day,” he rolled over slightly, so that his shoulder bumped against her back in a comradely fashion. “We’ll sweep ‘em off their feet, be charming and in love, and then we’ll take the train home.”

“Let us hope it’s that simple,” Hecate murmured, slightly surprised at how sleepy she felt. The nerves and anxiety were gone. Max’s quiet voice in the darkness was soothing, and yes, even the weight of another body next to hers felt…right.

 _This is what people miss_ , she realized. For so long, she’d wondered why people searched for love, why they frantically scoured the world as if they truly were looking for their own missing half, why they went on dates and smiled at strangers and hoped for everything in nothing. Perhaps she was beginning to understand. It was the hand to hold, the person to lay beside and talk softly with, the one to share burdens and help solve problems.

She was too tired to stop herself from imagining this differently—with Ada, as always. At the end of the day, slipping beneath welcoming sheets, quietly discussing the school and its students, offering a joke here and there, falling asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing. She already had some measure of that companionship—rarely a night passed without them having a quiet cup of tea in Ada’s office, unwinding from a long day—but it wasn’t the same, not exactly.

And of course, there were all the other things that people do in bed together. Hecate’s skin flushed at the thought. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d thought about Ada in that way, in the quiet safety of darkness, but _now_ certainly not the appropriate time nor place for such things.

Hecate’s right hand moved to her left wrist, to the connection charm. She didn’t touch it—instead her thumb rested just below the flat disc. Slowly, she rubbed small circles into her skin, wishing she had the courage to move her thumb up just a few centimeters, to show Ada that she missed her even now, especially now. It would be wrong, though, and she couldn’t do that Ada. To repay years of kindness and friendship with lasciviousness and deception was an absolute crime.

Still, she could reach out to Ada. Just…in a different way.

Max was already sound asleep, so Hecate didn’t fear waking him when she shifted, sitting up against the headboard. She summoned her maglet and scribbled out a quick message: _All is well. Will be home in time for afternoon tea tomorrow._

Chewing her bottom lip, she stared at the message. Home. For years now, Cackle’s Academy had been her home, and she’d stopped finding it odd to call it so. But she knew that now, it wasn’t due to the familiarity of the place, but to the memories it contained. Memories centered around a single person— _home_ , in Ada’s office, in the garden walking beside Ada, in the dining hall seated next to Ada, in any room graced with Ada’s presence, in the potions lab which Ada had upgraded and refitted five years ago at Hecate’s request, a gift that had never truly been outdone. The memory flooded her veins with warmth: the twinkle in Ada’s eye when she announced that she had a surprise for Hecate, the theatrical way she opened the door, the way the floating candles shone on the newly-installed glass cauldrons (which Hecate had campaigned for the year before, but there simply hadn’t been room in the budget), the feeling of absolute astonishment that had filled every fiber of Hecate’s being, Ada’s laughter at her potion mistress’ silent and open-jawed tour of the room.

 _Are you pleased?_ Ada had asked, her voice so heavy with soft kindness that it seemed to immediately sink to the floor.

 _Oh, Ada, there simply are not words._ Hecate had barely been able to speak, and perhaps there was more truth in that statement than in anything else she’d ever uttered. Even the walls had been repainted, designed to Hecate’s taste. Later that night, when she was alone and reflecting on her day, she’d cried. She’d never been given such an extraordinary gift. Even if it was in the name of academic excellence and providing their students with the very best, Ada had still managed to make it seem incredibly personal, as if the lab was entirely for Hecate’s purpose and pleasure alone.

Of course, she’d spent many hours in the previous version of the potions lab without complaint, but after that, she truly relished being there. Never had a room ever felt so uniquely her own, not even her private chambers. It was lavish and utilitarian, dark and light, filled yet uncluttered. While she’d always been meticulous in keeping her lab well above standard, she became almost obsessive about keeping it as pristine as possible. As wonderful as the day Ada had given it to her.

 _Are you pleased?_ For the first time, she really considered Ada’s tone in that question. Had time and memory changed the intonation, had Hecate’s stupid little heart added that shade and depth to it, wishing that’s how it had been said? Or…or was that exactly how Ada had asked it, soft and warm and knowing yet uncertain? So laced with affection, so…intimate?

 _Ada, dear, remember that one thing you said to me half a decade ago? Can you tell me exactly what you were feeling when you said it?_ Right. That would obviously solve the riddle. Hecate gave a slight shake of her head, exasperated with her own foppishness. With a few quick taps, she sent the message.

She really needed to get home. Apparently being away from Ada only made her think about the woman more, and that was a grand feat in itself.

_I keep you with me always,_

_you walk with me through fields of green,_

_I am never without you,_

_always felt but rarely seen._

That was some bit of poetry Pippa had once read, back in their school days. Pippa had clutched the book to her chest and swooned, dramatic and obsessed with love as always. Hecate had laughed at her, laughed with her, those two young girls so naïve and so unaware of the complex feelings expressed in such simple terms, having no idea how torturous and unbeautiful love could be. Hecate would learn, soon enough, but she doubted that Pippa ever truly did. She was pretty and light, able to have anyone she wanted. She’d never run the risk of becoming hopelessly enamored by someone who couldn’t possibly love her back.

Her maglet chimed quietly, disrupting her darkening thoughts.

_So very glad to hear it._

Concise, dismissive. Hecate felt her lungs deflate. She was disturbing Ada. Ada didn’t care how she was doing or when she’d be back—why should she? Her deputy was gone for a single day and night, nothing compared to some of her longer trips. She was probably enjoying the peace and quiet, and here Hecate was, keeping her awake with ridiculous messages stating things that were already obvious.

Hecate’s thoughts were interrupted by the sensation on her wrist—this time, it didn’t scare her. Ada’s hand was giving her a reassuring squeeze, warm and weighted. A small burst of happiness burbled in Hecate’s chest, and before she could overthink it, she returned the gesture.

Ada’s touch disappeared, and Hecate’s maglet chimed again.

_I worried about you, all day._

A tremor ran through Hecate’s stomach. First, she felt guilt for making Ada worry. Then, she felt…something warmer. Ada cared enough to worry. Ada spent the day thinking of Hecate, just as she’d spent the day thinking of Ada.

 _Don’t make assumptions_ , Hecate’s head warned. But her heart was skipping too far ahead to listen. She bent her head over her maglet, fully devoted to her message: _I promise, I’m fine. But I am ready to be back home, enjoying a nice cup of tea with you and the hellions_.

An innocent confession, but it seemed almost damning, in Hecate’s eyes. To admit needing someone was akin to admitting weakness. Admitting weakness was simply showing your enemy where best to strike.

But Ada wasn’t an enemy. She could be trusted—although by entrusting her with this confession, Hecate was running the risk of exposing her true feelings, and therefore potentially forfeiting what relationship they did have.

Ada’s response was two slightly-smeared paw prints, with the words: _They miss you, too._

Hecate clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. She tried imaging Ada rounding up two rambunctious cats and pressing their paws onto the maglet. She said as much, in her next message.

 _It was worth it, if it made you smile_ , came the reply.

Hecate slipped further down the headboard, for once relishing the blush in her cheeks. This was a giddy feeling, like dancing on the edge of a precipice that you weren’t even sure existed. In the darkness, it was easy to slip into fantasy, to imagine Ada’s voice saying these things aloud, to imagine that these words meant more than their surface value. Her hand went the timepiece around her neck again, another gift from Ada that she cherished and protected with pride.

The maglet chimed again: _Sweet dreams and safe travels, dear._

 _Sweet dreams, Ada_. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling, didn’t even try. She burrowed under the covers, fist still wrapped around her timepiece.

* * *

Ada Cackle shook her head in dismay and wonderment at her own impulsiveness. She wanted to blame the lateness of the hour, but honestly, she was never in bed at this time. Usually, she and Hecate would still be here in her office, going over paperwork or finally settling down for a cup of tea before the fireplace.

Not a single word she’d written had been a lie. But the truth behind them had been so close to the surface that her heart had pounded like a drum the entire time. Maybe it was the distance that gave her a sense of safety, maybe it was that fact that she wanted to distract Hecate from the stress of her current situation, maybe…maybe it was jealousy. Maybe because Ada _had_ spent all day thinking of Hecate, playing at love with someone else. Did they hold hands? Did he make her laugh again, the way she did that night when Ada had stopped outside Hecate’s room? Did she smile, that soft and secret smile that always made Ada’s heart forget to beat? Was it becoming easier and easier to pretend…and was it becoming less pretend?

That last thought jolted through Ada like lightning. There was the real worry, she realized. That Hecate’s fake relationship might blossom into something entirely real. Isn’t that what always happened, in those silly soppy novels Dimity read? Sure, it was a trope, but most tropes were based in some odd form of reality, some grain of truth to make them plausible.

 _Oh, please no_. She felt that prayer with every fiber of her being, and immediately felt awful for it. If this fake fiancé did become a real part of Hecate’s life, how could Ada begrudge her love and happiness?

 _Because he can’t possibly know her like I do. He can’t love her like I do._ An illogical thought, but Ada was prepared to stand by it. Twenty years now, she’d known Hecate Hardbroom—they hadn’t been friends through it all, nor had Ada always felt this way towards her, but Ada had still been there, had still witnessed Hecate’s evolutions, had still learned her quirks and her preferences and even the meanings behind her different types of sighs and eyebrow lifts. Maximillian might know who Hecate was, thirty years ago, but Ada knew who she was _now_.

And she loved who Hecate was now. Loved her silly stuffiness and her surprising kindness and her loyalty and her skill and her knowledge and her hands, almost as expressive as her eyes. Loved the way she stirred a potion and the way she read a book, both with a kind of focus that made her breathtakingly oblivious to the rest of the universe. Loved her outdated wardrobe and her inability to handle Mildred Hubble, even her hair-trigger temper and her cat-like disdain for the world. Yes, _loved_ , even when she didn’t particularly like it. Loved because and loved in spite of, loved unconditionally.

 _Perhaps you should have expressed these feelings before she found someone else,_ her inner voice chided, sounding eerily like her mother. Technically, her “someone else” was a temporary ruse, so there was some measure of comfort to be found in that. But things could change quickly—all of this had come into existence due to a single visit from Circe, who’d been here less than an hour. Life could change in the blink of an eye.

 _And you could be left without the brightest part of your life_.

Ada looked down at the floor, as if the rug pattern could give her answers. She generally didn’t consider herself a coward—in fact, she was a bit of risk-taker, if her reputation was to be believed. And this was certainly a risk.

But she _could_ do it…and gladly would, if she knew it wouldn’t upset Hecate. If she knew that Hecate felt the same, that Hecate would welcome such an advance rather than run away. But the truth was, she had no idea how Hecate felt. Was there a chance, even the slightest one?

 _Dearest Ada._ Hecate had written that, just today. The memory brought a soft smile to her lips.

And the flower. Last weekend, when she’d vanished the flower from Hecate’s hair, she’d found it placed on her desk, later. A simple thank you, she'd assumed at the time. But now she looked at it with renewed interest.

She thought back to all those years ago, when Hecate had tried to woo the now-departed history teacher with those impossible-to-find-historical records. During the search, Hecate had been focused, like a woman possessed, but when she'd presented the papers to the other woman, it had been with a casual nonchalance that bordered on complete disinterest. Ada had been amazed at the contrast, at the time. But now...now it made her curious. Had she been blinded by Hecate's ability to hide herself? Or was it wishful thinking on her part, some attempt to justify her own urges, her own desire to pursue something more?

There was really only one way forward. Ada would have to be less subtle, yet still gentle. She knew Hecate, could easily gauge her reactions and see if it was too much or in any way unwelcome, and if that were the case, she could gracefully retreat and never attempt again. Perhaps a few moments of awkwardness, and then all would be back to normal again. But to spend the rest of her life wondering, that just couldn't be. To possibly miss the chance to say everything she felt, to act upon those feelings...Ada felt her throat tighten at the thought. No, it was certainly better to know, regardless of what the answer might be.

Ada spent the rest of the evening scouring her memory for clues, little glances and smiles and gifts throughout the years. She fell asleep in her chair, slipping into a warm dream of Hecate, hair down and still in her soft t-shirt from her train ensemble, kneeling before her, eyes shining as she placed her hands on Ada’s knees, slowly opening them wider and slipping between, eyebrows lifting hopefully as she breathed _Ada? Ada, dearest, please?_


	8. Chapter 8

Morning came much too early for Hecate Hardbroom, which was an interesting twist—she was always awake before the dawn. But usually that was of her own choosing.

Currently, she had not chosen to be awake, yet here she was, thanks to Circe’s insistent finger poking her shoulder.

“Heck? Heck, are you asleep?”

“How can I be, with you jabbing me?” Hecate grumbled, her words half-lost as she turned her face into the pillow.

“Come with me. A walk, for old times’ sake.”

“We walked yesterday.”

“You do need to actually walk _every_ day, Heck. It’s good for your circulation."

“Five more minutes.”

Circe didn’t argue. Instead, she simply squeezed her body into the bed, forcing Hecate further into Max’s back. Max shifted, moving closer to the other edge to allow Circe more room. Hecate made a small mumble of protest but gave up, knowing it was futile. Soon, Circe was curled up next to her, Hecate wrapped around her like they’d lain a thousand times before.

Hecate leaned her head forward, forehead resting on Circe’s shoulder blade. She smelled of honeysuckle and freshly-crushed leaves, like she’d literally just rolled through a tangle of vines. Probably had, considering the fact that she’d slept in the garden last night. But Circe always smelled like flora. She’d followed their grandmother, choosing green magic and a solitary life communing with nature—a bold move, given their mother’s deep disapproval of such disgraceful wildness. Hecate knew that Circe had chosen green magic partly due to Hazel's disgust, a small form of rebellion, but she could also see the appeal. Solitude, no coven needed. No need to attempt social skills, no rigid rules to follow, no approval to win or disapproval to bear. Just a few chirping birds and the wind through the trees.

“You want to do one of your dawn ritual things, don’t you?” Hecate guessed, her voice still low and thick with sleep.

Circe hummed in confirmation. “Will you come with me? Just this once?”

Hecate realized with a pang that although Circe had given up winning their mother’s approval, she still needed Hecate’s. Circe was keenly aware of how different her magical practice was from her sister’s, and she feared how that would affect Hecate’s view of her. Hecate tightened her arm around her sister, pulling Circe closer.

“Of course.”

* * *

Hecate shivered in the coolness of the open field, looking around with a slight squint as she tried to gain her bearings. The village was centuries old; most of the properties still had sprawling networks of fields once used for livestock and crops that had slowly fallen into disuse as the population shrunk and industrialization took over.

There was a stone fence in the distance, which meant they were on the old Lanmore property. Perhaps a half-hour by foot from their parents’ house. Less than that, when she was a young girl who flew through the lanes and over low fences, long legs pumping double-time.

“East,” Circe decreed, pointing towards the lightening horizon—an unnecessary announcement, as Hecate had explored every inch of this land before Circe was even a twinkle in their father’s eye. 

Hecate sank to her knees beside her sister, who was already seated comfortably, legs crossed and eyes closed, face completely serene.

“So, what now?” Hecate asked.

“We’re just greeting the dawn. Call out to nature, thank her for another day. All that soppy overly-zealous-gratitude stuff that you love so well.” Circe was grinning at the last bit, fully aware of her sister’s preference to keep emotions under lock and key.

Hecate fought the urge to complain, knowing that despite Circe’s playful air, underneath she was worried about Hecate’s reaction. This was why she hated coming home, hated how it changed her, how it changed Circe, how they became shaken and pale children again, uncertain and unlike their true selves.

Unless this was their true nature. To be forever frightened, to be constantly hiding in shadows, finding comfort in not being found, not being seen.

“I hate this place,” she announced quietly, deciding for once to open up. Sensing Circe’s sudden tension, she quickly amended, “Not this place specifically, but…here. Back home. I hate how it feels. How we feel, being here.”

Circe hummed in agreement, the sorrow evident even in that small sound. “But, Heck…this isn’t our home anymore. It never was, not really. Our home was always out there, away from here. Waiting for us to find it.”

Hecate considered this, inwardly agreed, and then quietly asked. “And…have you found your home?”

“I have,” Circe’s face blossomed into a smile again. Hecate felt her chest surge with warmth. Her baby sister continued, “And it has made me grateful, for all the things that happened before, for all the places I had been before. Because after all that darkness, when my true home did arrive, I was able to see it for what it was, and to know that was where I belonged. I didn’t have any doubts left. It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world, knowing that you are exactly where you’re meant to be.”

“It is,” Hecate agreed, realization dawning. Yes, for years she’d felt at home at Cackle’s, and she’d known that she was where she was meant to be, doing the work she was meant to do (even if sometimes, she did forget, too caught up in the minutiae and inconveniences of daily life). But she’d never been _grateful_ for all the tragedies and regretful places she’d been prior to that, each one a stepping stone leading her there.

Leading her to Ada. There had been loves before, and ill-fated romances. Even one awful one-night stand that was particularly humiliating. There had been people who toyed with her affections, and those who outright manipulated her needs to gain their own selfish desires—but in the end, those experiences had made her realize just how different Ada Cackle was. How _good_ , how _right_.

Even if their relationship wasn’t romantic, even if it never became romantic, Hecate had to admit that Ada had been a force for good in her life, and would remain there for eternity. Ada had taught her to forgive her past mistakes, to even occasionally see the good in herself. She’d given her a renewed faith in other people, in the potential for goodness in all things. A gift she could never truly appreciate, if she had never experienced the other side of these things.

“You’ve found your home, too, haven’t you?” Circe’s gentle voice echoed her own thoughts.

“I have,” Hecate took a deep breath, watching the grey sky grow rosy. _And she is everything, worth all the waiting and the darkness before._

* * *

Breakfast was a civil affair, though Hecate felt her mother’s watchful eye, scrutinizing every interaction between her and Maximillian. Max seemed to notice as well, and delved his role of doting fiancé with renewed gusto. She didn’t have to feign gratitude or affection for him, or his attentions.

Afterwards, there was a walk through the gardens and orchards, where Arion could show off his prized fruit trees. Hecate couldn’t help but sourly remember how as children, they were forbidden from eating the fruit, instead letting it rot on the ground. Her father had come from wealth, but it had made him miserly instead of extravagant. His fastidiousness was well-matched to her mother’s belief that a life of deprivation somehow made a stronger moral character.

At the time, it had simply been her childhood, her world, her reality. It hadn’t seemed odd, until she’d gone off to school and heard tales of how other families lived. Even then, she’d never seen it as particularly lacking, just different. And it had forced her into being the best of her class, year after year, so there had to be some merit in the method.

Now, she tried to imagine her own students in this situation. Little Sybil Hallow, trying to survive in this house, even more afraid of failure than she currently was. Wild Mildred Hubble, having her spirit ground out of her. Smart and kind Maud Spellbody, not being allowed the comfort of extra books or that ridiculous little stuffed animal she brought with her, during her first year. Even painfully self-conscious Ethel Hallow, having her doubts and insecurities made larger. The thought made her throat tighten and her lungs burn in anger.

That was why she hated Ursula Hallow so, she knew. There was parts of her own mother in that woman, though they manifested their traits differently. She saw too much of herself in Ursula’s daughters, small painful mirrors of the past.

She realized that she would feel nothing but satisfaction when she ripped this happy little dream of a powerful marriage away from her parents. She would burn this place to the ground, if she had the courage. No child should have ever been here, with these people, in this place. They were lucky to have survived, to have become as normal as they were, to have somehow escaped further damage.

With a sudden surge of protective love, she reached out, grasping Circe’s hand with a fierce squeeze. Circe looked over at her in confusion, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she returned the gesture with equal force.

The tour ended, and soon it was time to make their farewells. As they walked back to the house, Max gently took her aside, placing a single flower in her hair.

“Your mother is watching,” he kept his tone low, his face set in an expression of loving adoration, as if he were simply uttering sweet nothings. “I think we should kiss, if that’s alright?”

She answered by closing her eyes and tilting her face towards his, feeling a slight zing of anxiety as his lips met hers. How easy this had become, how frighteningly easy! They were still acting, right? This was still Max, wishing to put on a good show and not…just wishing to kiss her? And she was still acting, too, still just going along with a script they’d rehearsed for days now?

She pulled back eventually, ducking her head as it swam with questions and thoughts. No, she didn’t love him, not like that anyways. But these little physical comforts were nice. Holding hands, and yes, even the kiss had been pleasant. She’d forgotten how little physical contact she had in her life, until now. It wasn’t earth shattering, but…still nice. Still quite nice.

How much nicer would it be, with someone else? Someone in particular?

“I think we’ve officially sold it,” Max leaned over, tone laced with conspiratorial playfulness. She gave a smile of relief at the thought.

“Now let’s go home,” she returned softly.

Circe slowly became her old self, as they said their farewells and headed out into the lane, broomsticks in hand.

“Well done, Heck,” she teased, lightly adjusting the cuff of her sleeve. “But as fun as it’s all been, I have to admit, I’m absolutely chuffed to be leaving.”

“That makes two of us.” Hecate mounted her broom. Her parents were already inside the house, not needing to see them off. The trio of travelers took to the skies, each one filled with a unique sense of relief.

Hecate’s heart soared as the train station came into view. One step closer to being home, to sitting with Ada over a quiet cup of tea, to letting Ada’s voice and Ada’s presence envelope her, reclaiming their place in every pore of her being.

Once they were on the train, she sent a quick message on her maglet: _On the train. Home soon._

Home, home, home. Home to Ada, whom she hadn’t missed this deeply before. She thought about her conversation with Circe earlier that morning, as they greeted the dawn. She settled into the happy warmth of the thought that Ada had been her true home, waiting for her all along.

She pushed away the negative voice that tried to warn her foolish heart. She could rein in her emotions and her stupid daydreams, once they arrived back at Cackle’s. For now, she could allow herself just a few more hours to dream.

* * *

Ada told herself that she would not look at the clock again. She shouldn’t have looked up the train schedule, shouldn’t have calculated the travel time, shouldn’t have known that Hecate should be here in exactly nine minutes.

That was obsessive. Ridiculous. Unnecessary. And yet…

Eight minutes. _Dammit, don’t look at the clock, Ada._

She smoothed her hands over her skirt, readjusted her brooch for the hundred time. This morning, she’d tried lying to herself, reasoning that she always took care in her appearance, because as headmistress she had to project a certain image—but it had taken her twice as long as usual, and her eye had been trained to other details, like how this skirt best complimented her hips and her perfume was the one with jasmine notes, a flower which was one of Hecate’s favorites.

Tea would feature all of Hecate’s preferences, from the blend to the little citrus-flavored madeleines that she so liked to nibble on. Not that it was a particularly special occasion, but Hecate would certainly be recovering from a trying weekend and, well, it was good to remind her that she was appreciated here. That she had someone who cared, who knew her and her tastes.

Not that Ada was trying to compete with a childhood-friend-turned-fake-fiancé. Not at all.

Four minutes. Oh, an eternity.

She glanced over at her desk. She’d put the little white flower on the edge, prominent, not easily missed, especially by someone like Hecate, who always had an eye for even the smallest of details. It was a test, a way to gauge the potions mistress’ reaction and see if there was perhaps a mutual feeling of tenderness.

This was absolutely ridiculous. She was devolving into schoolgirl antics—what next, would she ask Dimity to ask Gwen to ask Hecate if she thought Ada was cute?

Ada’s inner chiding was interrupted by a rap on the door.

Two minutes early. Typical Hecate.

Ada waved her hand, opening the door. Hecate stood there, face slightly flushed, eyes shining. However, she schooled herself into a calmer response, though her tone was still tinged with amusement. “I see the place is still standing.”

“I suppose having Hubble, Nightshade, and Spellbody away for the weekend helped,” Ada couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Hecate seemed just as delighted to be home as Ada was to have her home, and that had to count for something.

Hecate was back in her traditional black, though her skirt and blouse were both looser, more relaxed. Not entirely unusual for a weekend. She moved through the room, as if reacquainting herself with the space after many years away, but Ada could see the tension leaving Hecate’s thin shoulders, and she realized the woman was simply relishing being here again. Another hopeful clue.

The potions mistress stopped her tour, right hand twitching slightly. Ada followed her gaze—the flower, on the desk. Hecate’s left hand went to her abdomen, as if steeling herself, and she continued her lap of the room with nonchalant, easy steps, each clip of her heel weighted with reassurance and belonging.

So it did mean something, Ada realized. Another smile bubbled on her lips, which she allowed because Hecate was too busy to see it.

Hecate spun back on her heel, hands open in a questioning gesture. “I was told there would be tea.”

Still, the playful tone, the gleam in her eyes. She was practically beaming. There was no mistaking her joy in being home again. Ada made a grand motion with her hands, and the tea service appeared, having waited patiently in vanishment for Hecate’s arrival.

Hecate smiled softly at the sight of her favorite tea cakes and the scent of her favorite brew. This was for her, she knew. Ada preferred sweeter treats, and darker teas. They generally compromised, but Ada was making a point to welcome her home. It was ridiculous, they were both acting as if she’d been away for weeks, instead of a few hours.

This is how it would be, marriage with Ada. Silly sentimentality, little shows of affection. Feeling happy and warm and truly at home. Hecate took her usual seat, smiling as Ada did the same.

“Is it—is it silly, to have missed this, after being away for such a short time?” Hecate asked, her eyebrows lifting in a mixture of self-deprecating amusement and hopeful uncertainty.

“Not at all,” Ada beamed back at her. She ventured to add, “The feeling’s mutual.”

The look that passed through Hecate’s dark eyes—surprise, yes, but also…hopefulness? Ada used to pride herself on being able to read people’s emotions, but now she feared that her own feelings biased her interpretation. So far, she’d seen nothing but good signs. But that would have to mean she’d missed so much, over the years.

 _You might have missed it then, but you’re catching it now._ There was some comfort in the thought, Ada decided.

“I do apologize,” Hecate lifted her left hand, tilting her wrist so the connection bangle slipped from beneath her cuff. “I know it was meant as a way for you to alert me to danger, and yet it seems that you used it to save me instead.”

“Yes, well,” Ada ducked her head, looking down at her own wrist. “I’m sure you would have done the same, had the situation been reversed.”

Hecate gave an amused hum, “I doubt you’d be foolish enough to get yourself into such a situation.”

“I’m afraid you have more faith in me than is warranted,” Ada chuckled. “I’ve found myself in some pretty ridiculous predicaments over the years.”

_Now being a prime example, trying to trap my deeply private deputy into confessing her love for me, which may or may not actually exist._

Ada charged onward, focusing on her connection charm again as she began to slip it off her wrist, “Now that it’s over, I suppose I should—”

“I thought—” Hecate sat up abruptly, then blushed slightly, bringing her voice back to a normal tone. “I think…given recent history, it might be best if we—well, just because I’m back doesn’t mean that something couldn’t happen—and mind you, if you were willing, I think it would be a good idea to continue wearing the bracelets. As an added safety measure.”

“Yes, of course,” Ada was smiling like an idiot again. “A good idea, indeed.”

It was entirely by accident that she touched the disc again. Entirely. Hecate jolted, nearly spilling her tea.

“Sorry,” Ada quickly apologized, utterly insincere. She couldn’t regret her action when Hecate’s reaction was so adorably lovely, with her fluttering eyelashes and blushing cheeks.

“Oh, no need to apologize,” Hecate was keenly aware of how idiotic she looked. “I just—I think I should have adjusted the sensitivity on these things.”

Yes, that was the problem. The sensitivity of the charm, not Hecate’s desperate need for human contact, from one human in particular.

“So the trip went well, I take it?” Ada changed the subject, only feeling marginally bad for flustering her deputy so.

“As well as could be expected,” Hecate drawled, flicking away an imaginary speck of dust from her skirt. “This weekend was, surprisingly, the easy part. The real tribulation will begin after I inform my parents of our falling out. Though thankfully I can wait a few weeks for that, I suppose.”

Ada made a small noise of compassion. Parental expectation was something she understood. Parental disappointment as well. “Will you go back home for that, too?”

Hecate gave a quick shake of her head. “No. A letter will suffice.”

Ada breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that would be far less stressful for Hecate than a trip to face her parents in-person.

Hecate glanced down at her teacup again, brows knitting together, “You know, I realized something, while I was there. I have called that place home for so long and yet—it never was, not really. _This_ has been my home, more than any other.”

Now her eyes flicked back up to Ada’s face, shining with earnestness. “I have you to thank for that, dear Ada.”

That smile, that tone, those eyes—Ada’s brain short circuited, and her lungs forgot to breathe. Her mind scrambled with a thousand words of reassurance, but none could make their way to her lips.

Hecate became shy again, her eyes flickering back down to the floor as she quietly added, “So…thank you. For taking a chance on me, all those years ago. For continuing to have faith in me, and letting me stay here long enough to make this my home. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

Ada couldn’t stop herself from learning forward, reaching out to place her hand on Hecate’s knee and giving it a firm squeeze to relay her utter seriousness, “You have repaid me, a thousand times over. And it was—I never felt that I was taking a chance, when it came to you. You have always been…exemplary, in your abilities and your character. And you’ve proven that, again and again.”

Hecate was blushing now, still not meeting Ada’s gaze—a sign that she didn’t really believe the words being said, Ada knew.

“Hecate,” Ada’s voice was barely a whisper, but the change in tone made the younger witch look up. Ada waited, making sure that Hecate was truly listening, truly believing what she said. “Your friendship and your faith in me has been one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received. I can honestly say that I would not be here today, without you.”

More blushing. Then, Hecate cast a sideways glance to the painting on the wall. “Well, you’d still be here…just not on this side of the frame.”

Ada couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up her throat, as the tension slipped from her shoulders again. Hecate never mentioned all the times she’d brought Ada back from one transformation or another, never held it over her or even acted as if it had been a sacrifice or a risk at all—and Ada knew that was because, in Hecate’s meritocratic mind, it had simply been the right thing to do. And therefore hadn’t been a risk at all to her noble deputy.

Hecate’s lips were twisted into a wry smirk as well, pleased with her ability to still think with Ada’s hand on her knee, the warmth penetrating the fabric of her skirt and slipping further up her thigh. She’d made Ada laugh, and the odd energy in the room was dissipating as well.

Ada began to lean back, to move away again, and Hecate couldn’t stop herself from setting aside her teacup and reaching out again, lightly keeping Ada’s hand hostage, fingertips taking in the softness of Ada’s skin. “Thank you.”

This time, Ada didn’t try to brush away Hecate’s gratitude with her own, understanding that in this moment, Hecate didn’t need validation. She simply needed to know that she’d been heard. So Ada nodded and simply said, “Of course, my dear.”

Hecate’s heart leapt into her throat at those last two words, and how tenderly Ada wrapped them in affection. _You didn’t imagine that, Hecate. This is the exact same tone she used, the day she presented you with the remodeled potions lab._

Ada watched Hecate watching her, trying to read the dark eyes that narrowed ever-so-slightly, as if seeing her headmistress for the first time. Her stomach pricked with fear as she realized that Hecate was finally piecing it together.

And this time, Ada didn’t bury her emotions. She didn’t try to hide or disassemble. She simply sat there, letting Hecate scrutinize her with the same focused determination that she used when reading a potion ingredient list for the first time, making sure nothing was amiss, nothing misunderstood. It was terrifying, and elating, and surreal. It took every ounce of self-control to simply sit there, to let herself be seen. Instead, she observed Hecate just as closely. The slight lift of the brow, the way her lips parted, then wordlessly closed again, as if shuttering away a question, the way her other hand slowly evolved into a fist. Caution and fear and disbelief warring with something else, something hopeful and hesitant.

Hecate could feel her heart in every part of her body—pulse thrumming in her neck, heartbeat drowning out all thoughts in her head, electricity and blood simmering in her fingertips. Ada’s blue eyes were watching her with gentle caution, reminding Hecate once again how lucky she was to know this woman, this woman with her overwhelming compassion and her inability to be thrown off by Hecate’s inherent oddness. Who else could simply sit there as someone stared at them like a butterfly beneath the pins?

 _This can’t be real_ , Hecate’s mind breathed, _this can’t be really happening. You’re misreading something, missing something._

Ada saw the flicker of doubt in her friend’s eyes, and it filled her with a flash of fear. But Hecate hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t removed her hand from its place atop Ada’s, hadn’t run out of the room in horror. That was a good start, she decided.

“Sorry,” Hecate gave a half-hearted smile, blinking and shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair, taking her hand from Ada’s. “I’m afraid I’m a bit…off, today. All the stress and the traveling…”

“Of course,” Ada smiled, sitting back in her chair as well. She tucked her hand closer to her body, gently placing her other hand over it, as if trying to capture and keep the warmth left behind by Hecate’s fingers.

“I take it things were quiet, in my absence?” Hecate changed the subject easily, taking up her teacup once again.

“Yes,” Ada jumped at the chance to change the odd air in the room, knowing that she’d pushed the limit enough for now. Hecate was never a woman of instant direct action—she needed to contemplate, to absorb information and dissect it a thousand different ways, Ada had learned this, over the years. It was never going to be a simple and straightforward path, revealing her feelings or testing the waters of Hecate’s response, but for now, a start had been made and that was enough.

And what had happened so far gave Ada hope. Hecate was still here, still smiling, still talking, still being absolutely Hecate. Although occasionally Ada caught the potions mistress watching her with quietly questioning eyes, as they continued their easy discussion about the events of the weekend and made a few plans for the upcoming week. But that was a hopeful sign, too. It meant Hecate was paying attention. Finally seeing things.

Ada glanced back at her desk, at the small white flower waiting there. Maybe she was finally seeing things, too.

From the open window, there came the faint sound of commotion. Both witches stopped, listening as the sound grew more distinct. A group of girls, singing a row.

“Well, the pathfinders are back,” Ada announced with a delighted smile. Hecate gave a small nod, not nearly as enthused as her headmistress but still relieved at such happy sounds—a sign that everyone was alright and nothing too terrible had happened during their trip.

“Shall we greet them?” Ada asked lightly, lifting up her now-empty teacup as if waiting to send it back to vanishment.

“If you wish,” Hecate feigned longsuffering indulgence, sending her cup away at the same time as Ada, who smiled as if she saw through the façade. Truth be told, she wanted to greet them just as much as Ada did, wanted to see them with her own eyes and assess any damages, to know that they were all just as fine as they sounded in the distance.

They transferred to the front steps of the academy, instinctively looking up at the sky, which was filled with little pointy hats and billowing capes.

“Well met, Mesdames!” Dimity Drill called out joyously as she descended from the heavens. Behind her, the girls all landed on the green, chattering and giggling as usual.

“Well met,” Ada beamed back. “It seems everyone survived.”

“A few scrapes and bruises here and there, but nothing to worry about,” Dimity returned easily, holding out a hand in reassurance when she saw the flicker of alarm on HB’s face. “Like I said, nothing serious.”

Per usual, HB didn’t fully believe her. The potions mistress was craning her neck, surveying the group of girls with a cautious eye, as if trying to pick out the bumps and bruises from afar.

Dimity rolled her eyes and sent Broomhilda (her traveling broom, much sturdier yet less agile than Bippity) back into vanishment. However, she easily regained some joy as she solicitously asked, “Didja have a good weekend, HB?”

HB’s eyebrows shot skyward and her lips pressed together so tightly that they practically disappeared. A sure sign that she was afraid of Dimity learning her secret. Since witnessing the mysterious meeting with a handsome stranger the weekend before, Dimity had tried not to bring the subject up again. But she was exhausted from the trip and her impulse-control filters weren’t as strong as they usually were.

“Perfectly pleasant,” HB returned in a chilly tone. “I do hope the girls will have something to show from their weekend—dare I hope you _actually_ taught them something?”

Ada cleared her throat, a gentle reminder for Hecate to back down.

“Miss Cackle!” Mildred Hubble bounded up, face beaming with delight. “Miss Cackle, these are for you!”

These were a collection of sweet smelling flowers, somewhat limp from their long flight, with trailing leaves and more than a few bruised petals.

“My, how lovely!” Ada exclaimed, her heart filling with joy. Mildred’s enthusiasm was always infectious, always reminded Ada exactly why she loved teaching and why she was destined to run the academy.

Mildred frowned slightly, “They’re a little wilted now. But they were really beautiful when we picked them!”

“Virgin’s Breath is what the locals called them,” Dimity piped up. “Never seen ‘em before.”

“Me neither, but they truly are wonderful,” Ada spared another warm smile for Mildred, reassuring her that despite their imperfections, they were the perfect gift. Again Mildred’s young face bloomed in delight. Then, blushing slightly, she glanced over at Dimity, as if waiting for something.

“Oh, right.” The flying instructor gave a quick wave of her fingers. A basket appeared, laden down with various plants.

“We thought you might be able to use these, Miss Hardbroom,” Mildred kept her gaze focused on the basket, as if she feared looking at Hecate, feared seeing her reaction.

“Mildred Hubble, that is…quite thoughtful,” Hecate gingerly floated the basket from Dimity’s hand into her own, inspecting the contents. She thought about her morning walk through her father’s orchard—again, she tried to imagine Mildred Hubble in her parents’ house, trying to survive that environment.

Something in the basket must have caused her an allergy, because she suddenly found herself blinking back liquid from her eyes.

“Completely unnecessary,” she added, fingertip tracing the outline of a leaf. “But quite thoughtful.”

Now Mildred was looking at her, her sweet little impish grin in full force. Hecate allowed herself to smile too, if only for a brief moment. Beside her, she could feel the warmth of Ada’s beam as well.

“Well, let’s get everyone unpacked and ready for supper, shall we?” The headmistress opened her hands in a welcoming gesture. Dimity took charge, bellowing for the girls to move along, and brushing past Hecate with a slight smile.

“That really was very sweet of the girls, bringing you back potion ingredients,” Ada kept her voice low, giving herself an excuse to lean in closer to Hecate.

“It was,” Hecate agreed with a small nod and an even smaller smile.

“Dare I say we’ve reached the bend?” Ada cocked her head to one side, watching her deputy’s expression.

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, Ada,” Hecate warned, her tone still holding a note of teasing playfulness.

“If so, it would be in record time.”

 _The bend_ was a phenomenon unique to Hecate Hardbroom, something Ada had noticed over the years. It had taken her a while to see the pattern, but once she did, she hadn’t been able to unsee it.

Upon arriving in her first year, a young witch was often terrified of the dark and looming Miss Hardbroom. While that terror subsided slightly, fear of HB generally stayed through year three or four. However, by the time a witch left the academy, she usually had an affectionate level of respect for the potions mistress. Her insistence on excellence and her often-harsh teaching style was eventually understood and (most times) appreciated. Of course, it helped that as the girls got older and more in-control of their powers, Hecate’s approach softened as well. Her fifth years could hold amicable debates with her over various potion modifications, and Hecate sometimes held informal competitions for the outgoing fifth years. The prize was a private lesson on any potion they desired to recreate, and the girls would usually get fiercely competitive over the chance to win it.

Hecate would never admit it, but that was part of the reason she looked upon each new school year with dour disdain. Ever the pessimist, she always felt that no one could replace the batch of witches who’d left her care the year before. And yet, every year, she found herself missing the class who’d come in six years before, the class she’d sworn would be the death of the Craft. And every year, Ada simply smiled, knowing that in a few years’ time, Hecate would be a mother hen wishing to keep that particular brood under her wing for just a little while longer.

Obviously, Hecate didn’t agree with every aspect of this theory, but she’d been forced to admit that there was a bit of a pattern in how her relationship changed with the students as they grew older. She never saw herself as unnecessarily harsh, or even particularly harsh at all. Yes, she was serious, but so was magic. The girls had to be properly instilled with the reverence and meticulousness required for potions and their uses, and Hecate’s approach did exactly that.

Still, she let Ada tease her. Because Ada smiled _like that_ when she teased, and Hecate couldn’t deny the warm feeling she got from being the recipient of that smile.

“Like I said, let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” Hecate turned slowly on her heel, watching the girls file past her. Mildred tripped over her own untied shoelace, bowling into Enid and Maud, who tittered and giggled.

Ada looked over at her deputy again, who had ducked her head to mentally catalogue the contents of the basket. With a soft smile, she said, “You should probably get those sorted and put away.”

Hecate nodded. Ada felt another surge of simple joy at the thought of Hecate in her potions lab, carefully preserving and putting away her little gifts, murmuring softly to herself about this plant or that vial, perfectly at home and content. It was what she needed, after the trying weekend trip.

“See you at dinner?” Hecate felt like an idiot for asking such an obvious question. Still, she felt the need to say something, a small stupid desire to keep this moment for just a little bit longer, this warm little bubble of home.

“Of course,” Ada gave a small nod and a soft smile. “And perhaps afterwards, we can continue our tea.”

“I’d like that very much,” Hecate said quietly. She swallowed, filled with sudden nervousness. Was Ada just talking about the physical tea, or the emotions and words that had danced around the room like fireflies? Was she referring to the state of the tea, the happy relief of homecoming, the simple joy of being together again? Was Hecate just an absolute fool for daring to wish for such things?

Ada gave her one last reassuring pat on the arm before heading up the steps of the academy (she didn’t wait for Hecate to follow, knowing full well the woman would transfer to her destination).

That’s when Hecate truly noticed her skirt. It was…different. More fitted. More feminine, if such a thing were possible for Ada’s wardrobe. Definitely not the type she wore for a relaxed weekend. In fact, Hecate could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d seen Ada in that skirt—all of which were special occasions, council meetings or such.

Was Hecate’s return a special occasion? A reason to celebrate, even if her absence had been so short?

Hecate almost couldn’t breathe. No, that would be ridiculous. _It’s not always about you, Hecate_.

But…but if _were_ , then…then it would mean something. Something Hecate had thought was impossible. Something she could only dream about. Except this wasn’t a dream. It was real, incredibly real. Like the tone of Ada’s voice and the little white flower on Ada’s desk.

 _Never create a theory until you have enough evidence and research._ A simple rule, and a good one. Hecate decided that currently, she did not have enough evidence. Which meant she must therefore do more research. With a slight nod of self-approval, she silently agreed with her own plan. She must pay closer attention to Ada (was that even possible?). She must study every glance, every word, every tone and inflection. Even something as ephemeral as attraction held definable signs. One simply had to look, catalogue, and compare to previous data and established patterns.

Perhaps she could covertly borrow some of those ridiculous romance novels that Dimity Drill was always reading. They would hold clues, tell her the signs she should look for. Oh, she’d catch absolute and unmitigated hell if anyone ever found her with those types of books.

But it would be worth it, she suddenly realized. Worth it, if it helped her gauge Ada’s actions, if it answered this tormenting riddle and finally gave her some form of closure.

 _And what happens if all the signs are there?_ Her stomach clenched a the thought. _What are you going to do, if there’s an indication that Ada Cackle actually does feel the same way about you? What will you do, what will you say?_

She really hadn’t thought this through. What _would_ she do, if Ada felt this way? And what would she do, if she had irrefutable proof that Ada didn’t feel this way?

She honestly wasn’t sure which option was worse, at this point. Both were a bit too final, too scary to contemplate.

 _Just do it, Hecate_. She steeled herself, taking a deep breath. _Just do it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Hecate's resistance to each new batch of witches is due to her missing her outgoing classes isn't my own. It was from a tumblr post, whose author I can't remember. But I loved the thought and went with it.


	9. Chapter 9

HB was late for dinner, Dimity noticed. She also noticed the odd expression on the potions mistress’s face, the way she kept shifting in her seat, the even-more-wooden-than-usual movements of her arms.

“Y’okay, HB?”

“What? Yes, of course. Perfectly fine.” The words came too quickly, tumbling out with uneven breath.

“You’re normally not late,” Dimity pointed out. HB was acting weirder than usual (a pretty big feat in itself, to be honest), and given all the weirdness currently surrounding whatever was happening in her personal life, Dimity felt slightly concerned. Only slightly.

“Oh. I—I got caught up in a book,” HB admitted, ducking her head and concentrating on her plate as if it were the most fascinating thing in the room.

“Must have been a thrilling read,” Dimity commented dryly. Knowing HB’s reading tastes, probably some academic journal that would send a normal witch straight to sleep.

“It was enlightening,” HB agreed with a small nod.

Miss Cackle leaned over, “Are you sure you’re alright? You look a bit…unwell.”

Ada placed her hand atop Hecate’s, in a gesture of concern. The younger witch jumped like she’d been scalded.

“Sorry, I just—perhaps you’re right. I’m not well. I should—I think I will retire for the night.”

Without further ado, Hecate stood, taking a step back to transfer away to her chambers.

Ada and Dimity exchanged confused glances. Dimity’s tongue itched with the desire to ask what had happened this weekend, what had caused HB to become such a mess, and what the hell was going on with that dude she’d met last weekend. But she knew those questions couldn’t be asked and wouldn’t be answered. Even if Ada has the answer (she probably did, those two shared almost everything), she would never betray HB’s confidence and let Dimity in on the secret.

“I’ll check in on her, after dinner,” Ada decided. Dimity nodded in agreement. Still, she couldn’t push the worry from her mind.

What in the name of the goddess was going on?

* * *

 

Hecate leaned forward slightly, covering her face with both hands. She was making a fool of herself! She couldn’t act this way and expect no one to notice, or worse, to comment on her behavior.

Oh, goddess, what if it became obvious? What if everyone could already tell, what if they already knew?

She clutched her stomach at the thought. Her gaze flicked across the sitting room of her chambers, to the comfortable wingback and the book still sitting on its cushion.

She shouldn’t have done this. Any of this. The implications were too frightening. Still, she was compelled to move across the room, to pick up the worn paperback again.

She’d opted not to raid Dimity’s collection of romance novels, too afraid that the woman might actually notice one missing. But the staff library had a fiction section, mainly a conglomerate of old books left behind by previous teachers. She’d found this one, and decided to start her research. Really, she hadn’t had a choice in that matter, either. She’d put away the herbs that the girls had gifted her, but the entire time, her mind had mulled over how to implement her new plan of researching attraction and reading Ada’s behavior for signs. The plants were stored in record time and she’d found herself in the library before she could even truly consider the ramifications of her actions.

Now Hecate had absolutely zero sense of surprise in realizing that her own symptoms were definitely signs of love. She knew that much, of course. And some things weren’t surprising when applied to Ada, either. It was just defining the difference between platonic and romantic love.

But none of that was the reason she felt so embarrassed and off kilter. No, that reason was much more…salacious. Even as she hated herself for doing so, she resumed her reading.

It didn’t matter how the author had described the heroine. In Hecate’s mind, she was Ada. And right now, Ada was…Ada was undressing for her lover, soft smile and soft lips and soft hips—

Hecate slammed the book shut again. She should stop. This was wrong, she knew it, felt it with every fiber of her being. For so long, she’d not allowed herself to think of anything beyond perhaps holding Ada’s hand, or occasionally, when feeling particularly flighty, she imagined kissing her. Chaste kisses, only the most respectful and softest kind of kisses. Anything else was wrong, unfair to Ada.

_Unless Ada’s thinking of the same thing. Wanting the same thing…_

Hecate should burn the book. Honestly, it would be the only way to stop reading it. She hunched forward, pressing the heel of her hands into her eyes.

_Why are you doing this to yourself, Hecate? Why torture yourself with things that can never be? You’ve finally become your grandmother, an absolute lunatic, too far gone to regain sanity or control._

She may have to resign, she realized, the dread striking her like the somber toll of a bell. If she couldn’t learn to control herself again, to get back to the place of safety and quiet longing, the place she lived not too long ago but now seemed a million miles away—well, she would have to leave, wouldn’t she? To protect Ada, to protect herself from further embarrassment, from making an irrevocable mistake.

The thought of leaving her home, her Ada, was too much to bear.

“I can control this,” she announced to herself, giving a curt nod of agreement. She could, she just needed…distance. A chance to compartmentalize. Sitting so close to Ada while her body still hummed from all the images her reading had produced, that had not been the wisest decision. When Ada had touched her, Hecate had felt the shock through every inch of her body, and the guilt that followed had almost been unbearable.

What would Ada say, if she knew?

Hecate took a long, shallow breath. This reading was supposed to be research, to help the situation. It was only making it worse. With a resolute frown, she sent the book to vanishment (knowing full well that her resolve would eventually crumble and she’d have the book out again). Then she rose to her feet and began to pace, trying to exorcise the uneasy energy still low in her hips, the frenetic electricity still simmering on her skin.

There was a tried and true way…but that would be wrong, Hecate decided. She felt no shame about taking care of her physical needs, but to think of Ada, to touch herself while imagining Ada, that was too far. And right now, she didn’t possess the self-control _not_ to think of Ada in that way.

She couldn’t be in this room. In this castle, in the place filled to the brim with Ada Cackle. She transferred to the academy green, bringing her broom from vanishment. The sky was just becoming ink-stained with night, the eastern edges still hazy light blue, sunset tones already leeched away. There was an odd quietness and a certain feeling of anonymity, of nothingness, of oblivion. Everything Hecate craved in this moment.

She rose to the skies, the wind whipping past her ears as she urged it faster and higher. She wasn’t a trained trickster like Dimity, but she could handle a broom. During her younger years, she’d been a bit reckless from time to time. Usually during moments of emotional turmoil, much like now.

But she wasn’t entirely reckless, not these days. She brought the broom to a plateau, the academy seeming so small and manageable from this distance. So…unassuming. It looked so organized, so simple from way up here. Hecate surveyed the rest of the landscape, picking a spot in the distance. The edge of Glowworm Grove. The place she and Dimity had taken the third year girls on the pathfinding trip. So close to the place where they’d spent the night, where Dimity had pointed out Hecate’s feelings for Ada, and Hecate had been unable to deny them.

_I don’t think you’re suffering from a case of unrequited love._ That’s what Dimity had said. Hecate had tried to figure out her meaning, too embarrassed to ask for clarification. Now she regretted not asking.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Absolutely no help now. Hecate narrowed her gaze and urged her broom forward, picking up speed as she zipped through the cool evening air. The wind pulled at her hair and she responded, magicking it all undone, letting it billow free behind her. Tears seeped from her eyes in response to the sharpness of the air, but she didn’t slow down, didn’t lose her concentration. If only it could blow all these thoughts out of her mind, wiping it clean, removing this ridiculous mire she’d gotten herself stuck in.

She dipped lower as she approached the open field, whipping over the tall grass, feeling it ripple beneath her. Then she shot higher again, relishing the wind on her skin. She understood Circe’s attraction to nature, more than she’d ever care to admit. There was calmness in the solitude, a feeling of freedom in surrendering to the overwhelming force of nature, a deep sense of comfort in being a miniscule piece of a greater whole.

And there were no humans, no extra messy emotions, no unrequited desires and half-held breaths and surreptitious glances. No wondering, no agony, no riddles to solve.

Hecate had always been a coward. She knew that, accepted it fully. Running away was always her first instinct. Another reason she was unworthy of Ada—Ada deserved someone brave, someone unafraid to fight.

Night had fallen quickly, and now the torches of the academy flickered warmly on the horizon. Hecate slowed her approach, taking a moment to simply smile at the sight.

This was her home. She’d been perfectly honest to Ada about that, earlier. Nowhere else had held such a sense of belonging. Even in the brief flash that she’d considered resigning, she’d known that she couldn’t leave here. She’d suffer in silence for an eternity, if it meant staying here, staying at Ada’s side.

Which meant she had to stop this silly little research. Stop intentionally filling her head with images that would never become reality. Stop dancing along a line of fire. She needed a few days of distance, to marshal her feelings back into something more proper, something softer and less hungry, and then everything would return to normal. She’d continue her work here, continue supporting Ada in all things, and all would be well.

She made a few wide, lazy loops around the grounds before touching down on the green. Ada appeared almost immediately, making her jump in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Ada noticed her reaction, her blue eyes wide with fear. “I just—I went to your room, to check on you, and…you weren’t there. Obviously. I was—I _am_ worried. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Oh, Ada. Sweet Ada, with her concern and her kindness. Hecate’s chest tightened and she couldn’t stop the soft smile that bloomed across her lips. “Yes, I’m feeling a bit better. There’s just been…a lot to process, recently.”

Ada nodded, clenching her hands together. She knew she should say something, perhaps make her farewell for the evening. But she couldn’t think of anything, except how lovely Hecate looked right now, with her hair loose and wild, like some heroine from a gothic novel, and how softly she smiled, so open and almost…adoring? She shouldn’t imagine that hair, that smile, in a different context but heaven help her, it was impossible.

“I’m sorry, Ada,” Hecate stepped forward, her smile disappearing as she looked down, frowning slightly. “I didn’t mean to make you think—well, if you thought—I’m sorry for worrying you. There are just a few things I need to deal with, and they’re….well, it’s a bit preoccupying.”

“Perhaps I can help?” Ada’s tone was tinged with hopefulness. “A problem shared is a problem halved.”

Hecate Hardbroom could not think of a worse suggestion. Ah, yes, that would go over quite well: _dear Ada, I’m having trouble not imaging you naked, perhaps you could assist me with that little issue? Also, I’ve been wondering what it would be like to kiss you, to run my fingers through your hair, what do you think?_

“No,” she said, too quickly, too sharply. She took a light breath, softened her tone, “I mean, I don’t think it’s worth your time.”

_You’re always worth the time_ , Ada’s mind immediately refuted. However, she simply ducked her head as well, “Right. As you wish.”

“But thank you.” Hecate’s voice was so impossibly soft, Ada felt her throat tighten. She glanced up again, to be rewarded with another secret smile. “You truly are a good friend, Ada Cackle.”

Ada merely smiled. Hecate didn’t quite meet her gaze as she wished her a pleasant rest before disappearing.

If Ada was such a good friend, why was Hecate suddenly acting so strangely?

The answer sank in Ada’s gut like a stone. Hecate had figured it out. Of course she had. She might have been cautious and confused during tea, but afterwards, in the quiet of her potions room, she’d had time to analyze Ada’s behavior. Hecate could be a bit oblivious, but Ada had been less subtle today, and obviously, Hecate had finally realized what was going on.

And she didn’t want any part of it. The way she’d jumped, when Ada had touched her hand at dinner. Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. The dismissive way she waved off Ada’s offer for help. Probably trying to avoid spending further time alone with her headmistress, afraid of what might happen.

Oh, she’d ruined everything, Ada realized. Now Hecate was afraid of her, and Ada couldn’t imagine anything worse. It hadn’t been easy, becoming Hecate’s friend, gaining her confidence and reassuring her that Ada was a safe place to share her thoughts and feelings. And now Ada had betrayed that, in Hecate’s eyes. Now Hecate would withdraw, and Ada would be bereft of all the little bits of Hecate that had become as vital as air to her. Would there be no more late night chats, no mid-afternoon teas, no sarcastic asides or inside jokes, no more secret smiles, no more displays of unwavering support, no more Hecate, in all her conflicting intricacies, in all her faith-filled and enchanting glory?

_Oh, Ada, what have you done?_

* * *

 

Ada was still asking herself that same question as she sat at her desk the next morning. It was still early, the girls hadn’t even awakened yet, but the day already seemed an eternity. She hadn’t slept the night before, too filled with fear and worry and more than a dash of consternation. And now every minute that dragged on without some sign, some glimpse of Hecate, seemed to only further affirm last night’s revelation.

Hecate knew about Ada’s feelings for her, and she didn’t reciprocate. This had always been a risk, and Ada had thought she would be able to handle it—but now that it was here, now that it was truly happening, she wasn’t sure how to recover. It was one thing to assume that Hecate wasn’t interested, but to know for certain, well, that was a bit harsher to bear.

The worst part was potentially losing Hecate’s friendship in the bargain. She’d come to rely on her deputy’s loyalty and support, over the years, but it was their deep personal relationship that Ada treasured most. Had she lost it all, on this foolish gamble?

Her morose thoughts were interrupted by a loud pop, and suddenly, Circe Hardbroom was stumbling around her office, eyes wide and hair wild.

“I’m so sorry, this is the only place I could remember clearly enough to transfer to!” She gushed, clutching her chest. Obviously, she’d transferred from a great distance. “I just—I need to see Hecate now—I have to tell her, it wasn’t me!”

“Wasn’t you what?” Ada was on her feet, filled with immediate concern. Circe was pale, stricken by a panicked worry—a complete juxtaposition to the easy-going and unaffected woman that Ada had come to know.

“Haven’t you seen?” Circe moved over to her desk. “Oh, maybe Heck hasn’t either—oh, I hope so!”

“Miss Hardbroom, what on earth is going on?” Ada pushed aside her own dread, finding her headmistress voice. This had the desired result—Circe immediately stood a little straighter, became a little calmer.

“This,” Circe pointed to a copy of _The Witching Times_ , which rested on Ada’s desk. “Page seven.”

Ada gingerly picked up the newspaper, hands trembling slightly. She hadn’t read it yet, hadn’t had the time.

Page seven held a large black and white photograph. Despite the graininess, Hecate Hardbroom was unmistakable, in her t-shirt and jeans. She wore sunglasses, just like the man next to her—that had to be Maximillian Spellborne. The photo held a clear shot of their two hands, clutched tightly together as they moved across a train platform. They looked comfortable together, they looked good together.

Ada’s throat tightened at the thought. Her eyes went back to the headline, which trumpeted: _Millie’s Mystery Madame._ Heavens, these reporters and their atrocious headlines. She skimmed the article, which was all conjecture, based upon someone seeing Maximillian with this mystery woman at the station. The author wondered if this meant the notorious bachelor was finally settling down, or if this was simply another conquest in his long line of lovers. Ada’s fists involuntarily clenched as she read, and her mind wondered how much could be true.

Hecate had returned here, all starry eyed and blissful. Ada had initially assumed that she was happy to be home (that’s what she’d said, wasn’t it?)—but what if she’d misread it? What if Hecate was still floating on a cloud of love? What if last night’s odd broom flight had been Hecate, trying to sort out what had happened over the weekend? What exactly _had_ happened? Was Hecate reconsidering the plan—was she considering making the farce a reality? Was it already a reality? Was something developing between Hecate and Maximillian? Or worse, had he wooed her, with no intention of staying around? Was Hecate’s heart about to be broken?

Ada felt bile rising in her throat, each imagined scenario worse than the last. Circe’s voice brought her back, still heavy with worry, “So, where is she? I need to tell her, to let her know that it wasn’t me—I didn’t, I would never rat her out—”

“Why would she think it was you?”

Circe tapped the newspaper, the line which read _a source close to Maximillian claims that wedding bells may certainly be in the future_.

“There aren’t many who know about this,” Circe pointed out. “Heck might think I was pulling some awful prank—I know I can get a little overboard sometimes, I know, I truly do, but I would _never_ —”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Ada held her hand up. “I barely know you, Miss Hardbroom, but I do know your sister practically raised you, which means you are completely incapable of treachery.”

Circe gave a teary-eyed smile at the pronouncement.

“Now, let’s find your sister,” Ada reached out with her magic. Hecate was still in her chambers. Ada flicked her wrist, transferring herself and Circe to the corridor outside Hecate’s rooms. Circe leaned forward, giving a quick, hard wrap on the heavy wooden door.

It took a few moments for Hecate to appear, her face contorting in confusion at the sight of her baby sister. “Circe, what are you—”

“I’m sorry, Heck, but it’s rather important. May we?” Circe motioned to the room. Hecate stepped back, opening the door wider so that Circe and Ada could enter. She ducked her head as Ada brushed past, trying not to take in the scent of her perfume, the soft swish of her skirt, the adorableness of her cat slippers. Oh, goddess, her plan to stop being so hopelessly in love with Ada Cackle was already shattered.

Ada saw the way her deputy avoided her gaze, and her heart hurt with this new dose of reality. Yes, Hecate was wary of her now, unable to even look her in the eye.

However, Circe’s voice stopped her from lamenting further, “There’s no easy way to say this, Heck.”

“Say what?” Hecate looked up, suddenly apprehensive.

Ada magicked the newspaper from her desk, silently opening it to page seven and handing it over to her deputy. Hecate’s face fell when she saw her likeness. Her dark eyes scanned every line, eyebrows quirking in bouts of anger and despair.

“Oh…they think…oh, how are we going to fix this?” Hecate looked up at Circe, absolutely lost. Circe fought the urge to burst into tears—her sister was always the strong one, always the one with a plan, always the calm voice of reason. And now Hecate was looking to _her_ , asking her for advice, practically begging her to make this all disappear. After all these years, the tables were turned, and yet, Circe had nothing to offer. No way to help, to repay her sister’s kindness. No clever escape plan.

“I…I don’t know,” Circe answered feebly.

Hecate’s dark eyes cast over to Ada, silently pleading. Ada’s chest clenched again, awash with a new sense of chagrin.

“Does Mr. Spellborne know yet?” Ada asked quietly. Hecate’s face drained of all color entirely.

“Max,” Hecate breathed. “I should mirror him. We should—we have to decide—”

She clutched her stomach, expression pale and queasy, “I’m not—I don’t think I can do this.”

“Should I do it?” Circe took a step forward, gently reaching out for her sister. Hecate gave a slight nod, hand motioning listlessly towards her mirror.

“Hecate, are you alright?” Ada moved in as well. The younger witch looked like she might faint at any moment.

Instead, she merely nodded, ducking her head again. “I think—I need to—”

The bells rang out, waking the students for the day, and all three women jumped in surprise.

“Oh, no,” Hecate’s face filled with dread. “The girls. They’ll—oh that damnable Felicity Foxglove reads the paper every morning, she’ll have told them all before classes even begin.”

“I’ll handle that,” Ada assured her.

Hecate simply covered her face in her hands, shoulders hunching forward as if she might burst into tears. A small, distressed sound came out, muffled by her own flesh. Ada couldn’t stop herself from moving forward, from placing her hands on Hecate’s upper arms, steeling her with a slight squeeze of reassurance.

“It’s going to be alright, Hecate,” she intoned quietly, her voice holding more conviction than her heart. She watched Hecate’s fingers stiffen and flex, stilling for a moment before moving away from her face.

“I think I need…I want to be alone, for just a little while,” Hecate announced, suddenly somber. Circe opened her mouth to respond, but she held up a hand to still the protest, “You stay here. Talk to Max. Tell him that I will contact him, later. Just make sure he’s alright. I just need a few moments to myself.”

Hecate gently disengaged from Ada’s grasp, offering a small, almost-apologetic smile before vanishing.

“But where did she go?” Circe demanded, her tone filled with worry.

Ada reached out with her magic, searching the grounds. Wherever Hecate was, she didn’t want to be found. Ada knew with all certainty that Hecate was still at the academy, but she must have predicted that someone would try to locate her, and cast a shielding spell.

“I don’t know,” Ada admitted. “She doesn’t seem to want to be found.”

Circe made a small noise of understanding. “If she’s gone for too long, search the small places first. Cupboards and closets, the like.”

Ada didn’t ask for clarification, she simply trusted Circe’s suggestion and gave a nod of agreement. For now, she’d leave Hecate alone. Obviously, there was a lot to digest and even more to sort out.

“You are a good friend,” Circe said quietly. “I’m glad my sister has someone like you in her life.”

“She’s been a good friend to me,” Ada smiled. “I’m only returning the favor.”

Now Circe gave a lopsided grin. “That’s the thing about Heck, though, isn’t it? You never can quite make up for the debt you owe her. She always gives more, loves deeper. Which makes this whole situation even more upsetting—we wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me.”

“You couldn’t have predicted—”

“I threw away my sister’s privacy—her most treasured possession—for a chance to escape a few weeks’ worth of nagging from our mother. I dragged her into this weird, twisted affair because I knew she wouldn’t say no, because that’s who she is, because she always sacrifices herself for everyone else. It doesn’t matter what I _intended_ , it matters what happened.” Circe was resolute, though the harshness in her tone was directed at herself, not Ada. “Action holds more impact than intention, Miss Cackle.”

Ada couldn’t argue, didn’t have the energy to.

“I should find Felicity,” Ada said quietly. “She’s one of our students—fancies herself a budding gossip columnist. I don’t know if Hecate’s particularly recognizable in that photo, but if she is—”

“Our one saving grace is that no one knows Hecate’s identity,” Circe reminded her. “If that makes it into the papers, she’ll be absolutely shattered. I can’t think of a worse nightmare for Hecate, than having her private life dissected and put on display.”

Ada nodded in agreement before setting off to find Felicity Foxglove.

* * *

 

Dimity Drill leafed through the paper as she sipped her morning coffee. She’d just finished her early morning broom ride, and had decided that a few extra minutes of peace and quiet would be a good idea before joining the fray. With disinterested ease, she flipped through the pages, skimming headlines and only really reading the bits that sounded interesting (sports scores, a new magic spa opening, an opinion piece on the Hungarian Flying Team). She turned another page when something caught her eye.

That man. She recognized the man in that photo. She squinted slightly, trying to recall where she’d seen that face—

“Oh my giddy bats,” she breathed, eyes the size of saucers. HB’s mystery breakfast companion! And the woman next to him… _HB?!_

She was dressed like a normal nonmagical person, hair down and sunglasses hiding half her face, but that strong chin and even stronger nose was unmistakable. She read the article, mouth agape at the words printed beneath the photograph. _Mystery woman…wedding bells…holding hands…._

The whole bloody world had gone insane. Dimity suddenly looked around, scrutinizing her quarters. No, everything looked the same. She hadn’t somehow stumbled into an alternate reality.

Which meant none of this could be true. Hecate Hardbroom was a dyed-in-the-wool lesbian. Sure, there were plenty of people who didn’t subscribe to gendered attraction (in fact, given what Dimity remembered of Ada’s love life from her days before becoming headmistress, she was pretty sure Ada was), but HB simply wasn’t one of them. The woman loved women. Well, she seemed to have a thing for headmistresses, anyways.

So HB couldn’t be dating this man, much less contemplating marriage. Aside from her sexuality, there was the screaming fact that she was deeply in love with Ada Cackle. Even a blind witch could see that.

Circe. Dimity knew HB’s younger sister had to be involved, somehow. All the weirdness started whenever she’d shown up. And now HB was…what, exactly? In some kind of weird arrangement?

Dimity gasped. An arranged marriage? They weren’t as common anymore, but certain witching families—particularly older ones, with more bloodline bragging rights at stake—still followed tradition. Given HB’s disdain for all this modern, it wouldn’t be too difficult to imagine that her family could be holding on to the tradition.

Oh, she couldn’t imagine a worse fate for the potions mistress. First, to have to marry a man and endure heterosexual conjugal relations. Second, to be forever taken away from any chance at happiness with Ada.

“This is awful,” Dimity whispered to herself. “Just awful.”

She had to tell Ada.

* * *

 

Ada was hurrying down the corridor when Dimity Drill suddenly appeared behind her, “Ada, I need a word—”

“I’m a bit busy at the moment, Dimity.” Ada never slowed her pace.

“It’s about HB.”

That stopped the headmistress in her tracks. She turned slowly back to Dimity, her blue eyes filled with dread. She already knew.

“You’ve seen it, too, then,” Dimity guessed. “The newspaper.”

Ada nodded, brows quirking downward in a mixture of sorrow and frustration. “I’m trying to do damage control. If Felicity Foxglove sees it—”

“She won’t know it’s HB,” Dimity assured her quickly. “I wouldn’t have known, if I hadn’t recognized—”

She stopped herself. However, Ada Cackle pressed, “If you hadn’t recognized?”

Dimity looked at the floor. “The man who was with her. That Spellborne fellow. I…I’ve seen him with HB, before.”

“When?”

“Last weekend. When HB went into the village to meet him,” Dimity was still avoiding her gaze, like a child caught in a lie. “I…sort of followed her.”

Ada fought back a wave of irritation. “Followed her without her permission. I believe that’s called _stalking_ , Dimity.”

“I was trying to make sure she was safe,” Dimity countered, but her voice held very little conviction. “You two were acting so weird and secretive and…and it worried me.”

Dimity was genuine, both in her regret and her concern. Ada softened slightly. Still, she needed to know, “And how much did you witness, exactly?”

“I just saw them meeting,” Dimity held up her hands. “Once I realized that she wasn’t in danger, I left. I swear it!”

“I believe you,” Ada assured her. Then with a sigh, she queried, “Do you really think no one else will realize it’s Hecate, in the photograph?”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t have guessed it was her, if I hadn’t already known about the guy and recognized him. And I see her every day.”

Ada gave a small hum of agreement. It was true, Hecate was nearly unrecognizable. Maybe Circe's wardrobe choice would prove an unexpected salvation. Goodness, she hoped so.

Circe Hardbroom appeared, startling both women. “Millie’s aware. He's coming here, to see Hecate in person. Ah, well met, Dimity. How's the broom?”

“In excellent condition, thank you. And well met yourself,” Dimity gave a slight nod in greeting. She was brimming with questions but she knew that now was not the time to ask them. Instead, she focused her attention on Ada, “I could take over HB's morning classes, until she’s finished with….”

“Millie,” Circe supplied.

“What?”

“Well, Maximillian, but everyone calls him Millie.”

Oh, great Merlin’s girdle. If this situation were only a _fraction_ less serious, Dimity would have an absolute field day with this tidbit of information.

“Hecate prefers to call him Max,” Ada pointed out, giving a sharp look to Dimity, who was pressing her lips together to hide her smile.

“Understood,” Dimity nodded.

“We should try to find her,” Circe looked around, as if taking in the enormity of the castle for the first time. “I tried a locating spell with no luck. As I said earlier, it’s best to try the smaller spaces first. Closets, cupboards, maybe a pantry.”

Dimity perked up at the word _closets_. “The potions storeroom.”

Ada nodded in agreement. She raised her hand to transfer, but Dimity quickly spoke up, “I think I'll go check on the girls. I don’t expect that HB would be too pleased to see me right now.”

“Why not? You’re absolutely lovely,” Circe countered.

“We really don’t have the time to go into that right now,” Dimity informed her. “It would take a fully detailed timeline and at least one flow chart, maybe some graphs.”

“Another time then,” Circe decreed. “It sounds like a story worth hearing.”

Dimity merely snorted before hurrying away. Circe gently took Ada's hand. “Lead the way, Miss Cackle.”

Ada obeyed, transferring them to just outside the potions storeroom. She knocked quietly, not sure that Hecate was truly there, or that she’d answer, even if she was.

But her fears were unfounded—the door opened slowly, Hecate’s head ducked in embarrassment. Circe moved forward, placing both hands on Hecate’s shoulders, “He’s on his way. And he’s just as mortified as you are. I’m sure you two can figure something out.”

Hecate nodded, still dazed. Ada cleared her throat, gently catching her attention. “We don’t think Felicity knows. And we have your classes covered for the morning, so that you can sort things out with Mr. Spellborne.”

“Who’s teaching my classes?” Ah, there was the old Hecate Hardbroom.

“Miss Drill.”

It must be a serious situation indeed, because Hecate merely nodded instead of protesting.

“C’mon,” Circe gave her sister’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s go take a walk. Clear your head a bit, before Max arrives.”

Hecate let herself be led away, docile and dazed. Ada watched the two sisters go, dark heads instinctively tilting towards each other as they walked side by side. _Us against the world_. She felt a pang of nostalgia as she thought of her twin, of seeing her younger self through the mists of time, seeing and knowing how it would all end.

But the pain was fleeting, easily replaced by worry and love for the woman walking away from her. She gave her head a light shake. She still needed to find Felicity. While she clung to the hope that Dimity’s assertion was right and Hecate was unrecognizable in the photo, now was not the time to make assumptions or leave anything to chance.

Perhaps this could help mend whatever was broken between her and Hecate, now that Hecate knew how she felt. Perhaps she could still prove that regardless of her romantic intentions or Hecate’s lack thereof, Ada still was her friend, still wanted to be her friend, even if that was all she would ever be.

_If that was all_. As if that wasn’t enough, Ada chided herself. Hecate’s friendship had always been enough—had been _more_ , more than she’d deserved, more than she could have imagined, more than she could ever repay. Why had she risked it all over some silly infatuation, some idle daydream that she’d allowed to grow in her mind’s garden for too long?

Deep down, she knew it wasn’t just an infatuation, nothing nearly as innocuous as a daydream. But this was part of the walking away, too. Belittling the emotion, making it easier to put back in a box, to put further away. It would be painful, but she’d do anything for Hecate, anything at all.

If only it would be enough to save what might be lost.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who left feedback. You rock.
> 
> Second, just a reminder that this storyline will continue throughout all 8 weeks of the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge, so if you're feeling particularly masochistic, come back and see me, ya hear?

Maxmillian Spellborne couldn’t help but give a slight smile as he made a final descent into Cackle’s Academy for Witches. It was just as Hecate had described it, with even more charm. Despite the size of the grounds, it retained a quaint air, with its beautiful gardens and aging walls. He felt the ripple of magic around him as he came lower—Heck’s magic, he could tell. She’d always been powerful, even when they were children. Back then, neither of them had realized it, but looking back, it was obvious. He felt a measure of pride for his oldest friend and all her achievements, and an equal measure of chagrin for putting her in a position that threatened the idyllic life she’d built.

He should have been more careful. He should have known that someone would recognize him, someone would take a picture. It wasn’t as common as it used to be, but one could never be too cautious. There was always someone looking to make a quick and dirty little payday, and as evidenced by this morning’s paper, his love life was still newsworthy. It was sickening, but he’d grown used to it, after almost three decades. Hecate, on the other hand, was totally new to this. Totally undeserving of whatever scrutiny and invasion may come, if her identity was ever revealed.

He’d been careful leaving his home, this time. Taken every precaution, traveled under a combination of spells to keep him invisible and undetectable by locating spells. Oh, if only he’d taken Hecate’s suggestion and taken the whole journey to her parents by broomstick.

Hecate and Circe were in the garden, looking into the sky with pale and expectant faces. Circe beamed and waved, chipper as always. He felt a tug of affection for the younger woman. Eternally indomitable, a trait learned from Hecate. They just projected that indomitability differently.

Hecate felt her stomach roll with nausea and nerves as Max landed on the soft grass. He was here—her two worlds were colliding, past and present, forever deciding her future. She wished it was all over. Perhaps that it had never happened. The coward’s wish, she knew, but still her deepest wish in this moment.

Max vanished his broom, long legs eating up the distance between them to envelope her in a hug. “Oh, Heck, I’m so sorry. I should have—”

“Don’t. It’s not your fault,” she shook her head slightly as she disengaged from his embrace. Her dark eyes cut towards her sister, who took the hint and transferred away. With a delicate turn of her wrist, she motioned towards the garden path, which led further into the hedges of roses and topiary, further away from the academy and any other curious eyes. “Shall we?”

He gallantly offered his arm and they fell into step, naturally as breathing. Hecate reminded herself how easy he’d made this entire charade, how effortlessly they moved into these moments. He didn’t speak, didn’t press her to do so, either—he simply waited, giving her time to organize her thoughts and summon what little courage she did have.

“So,” Hecate glanced down at her feet. “Needless to say, this complicates things.”

“Does it?” Max seemed uncertain.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to be humiliated, or…I don’t know, I just think that it would have been easier to move along, if only a few people had known. And now hundreds do—surely there will be questions.”

“There already are,” he confirmed. Then he shrugged, “But there are always questions, Heck. This isn’t my first time with the gossip rags. I’ve learned to grow quite the thick skin.”

She gave a small hum, both envying his nonchalance and despising the situations that bred it. After a beat, she spoke again, “What should we do?”

This time, she looked up at him, face skewed in questioning confusion. Somehow, in that moment, her worry made her seem younger, and he felt as if he were eleven years old all over again, looking at Hecate at the same age. Their world had been so much simpler then.

Simplicity didn't exist, he knew. So he moved forward, into complication. “Well, the way I see it, we have two options. The same two options we’ve always had: either go ahead with our original plan, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or…we could just do it.”

“Do what?” Hecate’s words were slow, meticulous. The wariness in her eyes was unmistakable. She knew exactly what he was saying, but she wanted to be absolutely sure that she hadn’t misunderstood.

Max stopped walking, turning to take both of Hecate’s hands in his. “You and me, Heck. Make a go of it. Marriage, for real.”

Oh. Oh, no. Hecate felt the blood drain from her face. Her fingers involuntarily flexed, nails digging into Max’s flesh.

“Before you say no,” Max didn’t pull away. Instead, he held on tighter, as if keeping her from running away. “Just consider it. You don’t have to answer right now.”

He watched his childhood playmate try to fulfill his request, watched as her features contorted into expressions of fear, confusion, and worry. He understood some of the thoughts that must have been swirling around her head—surely she was thinking of all the little moments they’d shared over the past two days, the hand holding and the kiss, the little tokens of affection. He felt the need to assure her, to clarify, “Look, I know it’s not a thing of grand passion, but we do love each other, even if it is simply as friends.”

There was a measure of relief in his words. So he hadn’t fallen in love with her (that part did not surprise Hecate), it hadn't evolved into something one-sided and messy and inevitably painful. Because he asked for her consideration, she gave it, simply nodding and waiting for him to continue.

He smiled slightly when he realized that she was truly listening, and continued, “Both of our families have practiced arranged marriages for centuries—what I’m proposing isn’t much different. But at least we know we would be happy, Heck. There’s everything you could ask for in marriage already here—mutual respect and concern, love, affection, friendship…enough to build a solid foundation. And after this weekend, I know we could make a go of it.”

Hecate found herself agreeing with his logic. She’d always known that she wouldn’t find someone who was passionately, madly in love with her, and honestly, she’d dismissed the idea of ever marrying years ago. She went back to all the times over the past two weeks when they’d found easy silence, when their hands had slipped into one another like puzzle pieces, even when they’d kissed. Yes, life with Max wouldn’t be a burden. He would be kind and considerate, which was more than some found in a spouse.

She started moving again, keeping her pace slow so that her roiling mind could unravel its tangles. She clasped her hands in front of her, trying to find the words. The best she could conjure up were, “It’s a lovely idea, Max. But that’s all it is—an _idea_. The reality, I’m afraid, would not be as shining and perfect.”

“I’m not looking for perfect,” he informed her. “I’m looking for practical.”

Well, Hecate couldn’t argue with that. From a practical standpoint, their union was pretty airtight. Except for one thing. Hecate looked down again, clenching her hands together so tightly that her knuckles screamed in agony. The words stayed behind her teeth, caged and frightened dogs.

“Is there someone else?” Max gently prompted. He’d read her hesitancy easily enough.

 _Yes_. “No.”

He reached out, lightly placing his hand on her arm, making her look up at him again. “I know it’s not ideal. I know it’s not how either of us planned for this to go. But…I _have_ thought about it, over the past few days—the gossip article seemed like a sign, in a way. I have no grand expectations of us turning into true lovers, or finding some great romance. But we have never been the sort to subscribe to such fantasies. We are compatible, and we could build a very nice life together. We’re still young enough for a family. We could do it, Heck. We could have it all.”

A family. _Children_. A house filled with noise and mess and love. For the longest time, the idea had been repulsive to Hecate, too afraid of it becoming exactly like her own childhood. Over the years, she’d realized that the past didn’t have to repeat itself, and memories of raising Circe had filled her with a nostalgic warmth. And Max was not her father—he would help her, would be there to raise those children. They would be a team. A true partnership.

The cowardly truth still lodged in her throat like a shard of glass. She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to let some of it out. “Max, I…I’m afraid I do not possess the instinct for such things.”

Max scoffed at her words, “Oh, come off it. You’re the most maternal being I know. It’s always come naturally to you. You would be a fine mother.”

Had the moment not been so serious, she would have blushed at the compliment (certainly not one she’d heard before). However, she was blushing for an entirely different reason—there was no more avoiding this confession.

“No, not maternal instinct. I mean the instinct to be…” She trailed off, courage faltering as always. She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and forced herself to continue, “The instinct to be… _attracted_ …to a man.”

He laughed. She looked at him, shock breaking her nerves like glass—whatever reaction she’d expected, it wasn’t quite this.

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a grand revelation?” He shook his head, his face filled with amused affection. “Heck, I have known you almost all of our lives. You were always a frog who preferred a lily pad to a log.”

She made a face at the phrase. His smile softened, “Something my great-granddad used to say. They were so coy about these things, the Victorians.”

Hecate gave a small nod, still inwardly reeling. After all this time, all the secret-keeping and the angst, was this all it had been building up to? An easy acceptance, a continuation without pause? Had everyone else always known, all along?

Did Ada know?

Max easily looped his arm through hers again, ducking his head as he became slightly more serious, “In a way, I think that’s why we were always such close friends, even from the start. Because we were so alike.”

His words stopped her in her tracks. She looked at him, eyebrows lifted in confused surprise, “Do you…are you saying….”

He held out his hands, as if opening for a grand confession. “This frog does not care for lily pads, dear Hecate.”

Her eyes were the size of saucers now, she knew. Because for years now, there had been tales of Maximillian Spellborne VII, notorious womanizer, wizarding world Don Juan—suddenly she realized it had all been a front. A distraction, a way to keep everyone from seeing what he really wanted, whom he really loved.

She could understand that. More than she cared to admit.

Still, her practical mind couldn’t help but ask, “Then why—why would you propose marriage? There would be no…joy in it.”

She hated herself for hedging, but she couldn’t bring her mouth to say the words. This was all too bizarre, too unreal.

Max was still smiling softly, still unfazed by her hesitancy. “It would be a marriage of convenience, in many ways. You could teach here, as long as you wanted, and I would continue my work with the council. When the time was right, we could adopt. Do a blood ceremony, bond the children to our family line. You live up to your mother’s expectations; we both continue our family lines. We could pursue…other interests, apart from our marriage—I know that sounds cold and uncaring, but I don’t mean it to be. I genuinely care for you, and I want you to be happy. And I think this arrangement could be good, for both of us. We could fulfill every expectation, and yet still have our own lives, the lives that we want.”

His words made sense, Hecate realized. A marriage between them would be a partnership, a continuation of their friendship. It would protect Max from further scrutiny, allow him to live out whatever life he chose. It would give her a chance to have a life she’d never imagined, one in which she actually fulfilled all of her expectations as future head of the Hardbroom line. It would forever spare Circe from their mother’s incessant demands as well.

Hecate Hardbroom prided herself on being a practical person, and this was a practical solution. So why did she hesitate?

 _Because everything you want is right here_ , the voice in her head softly replied. Young witches to raise, a legacy to build upon, important work to do. Another to love, even if only from afar.

But Max had said she could stay here, as long as she wanted. She could wed Max and continue loving Ada in silence.

If Max had proposed just twenty-four hours earlier, perhaps she would have said yes. But after her return home, after Ada’s behavior and all it could imply….there was a delicate balance that must be protected. Yes, just last night she’d told herself to put distance between herself and her headmistress, convinced that she’d misread every signal given over tea that afternoon—but there was still the faintest whisper of hope, and no amount of logic or reasoning could quash it. Truthfully, Hecate wasn’t sure that she wanted to ever let that ember die, not fully. She wasn’t sure she _could_ let it.

 _Only a fool would throw away a guarantee in favor of absolute uncertainty_ , her mother’s voice rang in her head.

Well, she’d always been a fool. Might as well stick to tradition. She gingerly took Max’s hands in hers again, leaning forward to place the softest of kisses on his lips. She could feel him smiling, already fully aware of her answer.

* * *

 

“Oh my giddy bats,” Circe Hardbroom’s voice, filled with low wonder, distracted Ada from her paperwork. The blonde looked up, turning to see the younger witch stationed at the window, which overlooked the gardens.

Circe’s eyes were wide with shock and the slightest gleam of delight. “I think maybe they’re getting engaged for real.”

Ada had told herself that she wouldn’t snoop, wouldn’t spy on Hecate (she’d tried to discourage Circe from doing the same, but apparently she’d also inherited her sister’s ironclad determination to do whatever she damn well pleased). But this was too shocking, too much, too horrible to be true. Before her brain could even register her body’s actions, she was on her feet, standing next to Circe at the window, adjusting her glasses to take in the scene below.

Mr. Spellborne and Hecate were standing in front of each other, holding hands. Hecate was smiling, that warm, almost-sad smile that Ada knew so well. The one that beamed with affection. The one that always made her heart forget to beat when it came her way.

Then Hecate leaned forward, rolling up on her toes to kiss the wizard. Ada wanted to look away—knew she should—but couldn’t. It was if she was seeing an entirely different person, someone who looked like Hecate but couldn’t be her Hecate at all.

 _She’s not yours_ , her inner voice sniped back. _That should be even more evident than usual, you ridiculous woman—never was yours, never will be._

Hecate pulled back, dipping her head shyly. They were too far away for words to be heard, but given their soft expressions, Ada could tell their voices were low and adoring. The voices of love.

Mr. Spellborne reached up, cupping Hecate’s face in both hands. Ada saw the barely perceptible tilt of the brunette’s head, as if she were leaning further into the embrace. The wizard gave her one last kiss, on her forehead, and then stepped back to summon his broom. She reached for him, stopping him. A few more soft words, another set of warm smiles, and then he took to the skies.

“Maybe it all turned out alright after all,” Circe murmured. She was biting her thumbnail, eyes still trained on her sister, taking in every nuance, every smile.

Suddenly, Hecate disappeared. Ada whirled around, knowing exactly what would happen next, and it did—Hecate was in her office, and given their position at the window, painfully aware of the fact that her headmistress and her younger sister had been spying on her. Her big brown eyes flitted to Ada, an odd look of worry and embarrassment washing over her features.

 _She’s going to leave me, to leave the school_ , Ada went cold with the thought. _She’s in love. With him_.

“Seems like it went pretty well,” Circe was unabashed, as ever. Her mouth quirked into a hopeful smile.

“I suppose it did,” Hecate’s gaze never left Ada, never lost its scared rabbit quality. She was trying to tell the blonde something, without words, but Ada found that she could no longer decipher her deputy’s nonverbal messages.

“Circe,” Hecate took a step forward, finally tearing her eyes away from Ada (why did Ada look so scared, so sad, what had she missed?). “I think it’s time you headed back to your little home in the woods—”

“Oh, Heck, you can’t just leave me in the dark—”

Hecate cast her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You’ll find a new mirror awaiting your arrival. Call me, tonight.”

Circe gave a pout, “Surely I shouldn’t have to wait that long to hear of my only sister’s engagement.”

“You’ll have to wait much longer to hear such a thing,” Hecate informed her. Again, her eyes slid back to her headmistress. Ada’s face showed surprise and…relief? There was her whisper of hope.

“What?” Circe was shocked. She motioned towards the garden, once again highlighting the fact that she’d spied on the whole exchange. “After that kiss and that, that… _lovey dovey_ carrying on, surely—”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Hecate retorted. She felt her irritation rising. She wanted to speak to Ada, she _needed_ to speak to Ada, alone. “Max is a dear friend and nothing more. He’s going to print an announcement to the press, insisting his mystery woman is just a friend. And we are all going to go back to our lives.”

Circe made a small noise of disapproval for the outcome. She mumbled, half to herself, “I really have to spend more time around human beings again—my ability to read signals is apparently more affected than I thought. If you two were geese, you’d already be mating by now.”

Ada fought back a smile. Oddness was a Hardbroom family trait too, apparently. Hecate was smiling, too, in the endearingly amused way that mothers do when their children say something hilarious yet mildly inappropriate.

“Come,” Hecate held open her arms, and Circe easily found her way into them. She kissed her baby sister’s cheek. “Be safe, and be well, Circe Hardbroom.”

“Be safe and be well, Hecate Hardbroom,” Circe repeated back, tightening her hug for a few seconds, as if she could press those words into her sister’s body, ensuring that they became a solid truth. Then she stepped back, arching her eyebrow in a critical gaze, “And don’t think for a single second that this conversation is over. I will hear every single detail of—”

Hecate’s expressive hands zipped around in a grand gesture, and Circe was gone. Ada pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. For all their similarities, the Hardbroom sisters were still entirely different creatures.

“She’ll forgive me,” Hecate decreed, with a small smile of her own. “But you really do have to cut her off, sometimes.”

Ada merely smiled, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. Her mind was brimming with questions, but she felt no right to ask them. It was Hecate who nodded towards the open window, quietly suggesting, “Perhaps a walk in the gardens?”

“Sounds lovely. Shall I?” Ada held up her hand to transfer them both, knowing that Hecate’s feat of sending her sister off to wherever would have drained her energy. Hecate gave a small, grateful nod.

It was the transfer that made Hecate realize how tired she was. With a slight grimace, she motioned towards the bench. “Perhaps we can just sit for a while?”

“Of course, dear. Whatever you need.”

Simple words that sent a ripple of joy through her chest. Yes, this was worth it, worth the loss of a certain future. They sat down in silence, both placing their hands on their knees and smoothing their skirts, one fitted and black, the other flowy and pink. Opposites, and complements. 

Ada kept her gaze straight ahead, though she could feel every movement of Hecate’s body, every shift, every sigh. She knew her deputy was cataloguing her feelings, searching for the right words, probably still trying to take it all in herself. She gave her silence and time.

Finally, Hecate ducked her head, clearing her throat lightly. “He did ask me, you know. To marry him.”

Ada’s chest tightened at the thought. Oh, how she wanted Hecate to be happy—but the thought of losing her still hurt, still came with petty jealousy and heavy regret.

Hecate had told herself that she would watch Ada’s reaction, that she would see once and for all how Ada truly felt, but now that the moment had come, it was like looking at the sun. Try as she might, she could not stop her eyes from turning away. The fear was too great. Fear of what she might see, fear of what she might not. Once a coward, always a coward. At least she could pride herself on consistency.

Still, she felt the tension radiating from Ada’s shoulders in waves. Of course, it could be just a headmistress’ fear of losing a solid and faithful deputy. A friend’s fear of losing her closest confidante. Or it could be something more.

It was the breath of possibility that kept Hecate going. She looked down at her lap, fingernail scratching over the raised brocade design of her skirt. Quickly, she forced herself to continue, “It would have been a marriage of convenience, mind you. A marriage of…mutual respect and friendship. Nothing more.”

Oh, how Ada’s heart broke at those words. _Hecate, Hecate, you deserve so much more. I would swallow the moon if you asked._

“Still, there were some incentives,” Hecate had to admit, tilting her head to one side in acknowledgement. “The chance to start a family. To have a life I never imagined possible.”

The hint of longing in Hecate’s tone took Ada by surprise. She turned to the younger witch. “And that’s something you want?”

Hecate gave a small smile, a slight shake of her head, as if incredulous of her own ridiculousness. “Not…really. I’ve never regretted my choices. But there is something in…in being offered a path that you thought would never be open to you.”

The allure of novelty. Ada understood that. Gently, she prompted, “And now that you’ve been offered that path?”

Hecate’s smile deepened, soft and warm. Ada wished she could keep this moment: the tilt of her chin, the curl of her mouth, the shadow of her eyelashes upon her cheek. How beautiful, how vibrant, how achingly and obliviously endearing she was when she stumbled upon a secret that she shyly wanted to share with Ada. There was a sense of relief in Hecate’s nonverbal response, and somehow, without knowing anything, Ada was certain that it would all be alright.

“And now, I realize I have all that I could want.” Hecate felt the warmth fizzing through her veins, dizzy at how close she danced to the truth. “Everything I could want from that other life…I have that. Here.”

 _Here, with you._ She’d wanted to say that, but she couldn’t make the words come out. As usual, she chose cowardice. Just another reason she’d never be worthy of Ada. But she was beginning to think that maybe ( _maybe maybe just maybe_ ) this wasn’t about worthiness. Maybe it was about something bigger, something deeper. Something beyond.

The air in Ada’s lungs completely fled. Hecate’s simple confession meant nothing and everything, all at once. _I have all that I could want_ —Ada was included in that, even if simply by association. Still, it filled her with joy, knowing that this was the place that Hecate would choose to be, over anywhere else.

As if continuing Ada’s thought, Hecate spoke again, voice lined with gentle honesty, “It may be hard for someone like you to understand, but for me—to have a place of belonging, it is…it is beyond words, to describe how grateful I am. Yesterday, I told you that I had realized Cackle’s was my true home, and I meant it. Before I came here, I was…adrift. I made horrible choices, did things I will regret til the end of my days.”

Ada gave a small hum of understanding. She knew the horrors Mistress Broomhead had visited upon Hecate, and the dark things Hecate had done in her name. Hecate had told her that story long ago, and with such pain that Ada had quietly promised she’d never mention it again. But she also never had to—it was always there, as evident as a physical scar.

Hecate’s frown wobbled into a brief smile, laden with nostalgia. “And then I came here. And I could be…soft.”

Probably not the word Dimity Drill would use, Ada mused dryly, but she wisely kept that thought to herself. Still, she understood what Hecate truly meant—soft, vulnerable, open, honest. All the things Hecate was, when it was just her and Ada.

Hecate continued, “I truly feel that I _became_ myself here. And you…you’ve always been so wonderfully kind and accepting of my eccentricities and faults, perhaps more than you should be. I don’t think I could ever trade that, for anything.”

The self-conscious beam that accompanied that last statement was enough to make Ada’s heart completely erupt, but she forced herself to hold back, to not overwhelm her shy and deferring deputy with emotion. She realized, with relieved clarity, that her actions during yesterday's teatime was not the cause of whatever oddness existed between them last night, but still, she didn't want to do anything to jeopardize this moment. So she chose the lighter route.

“Well, I don’t think I’ve _always_ been so accepting,” Ada joked slightly. Hecate hummed in amused agreement as they both remembered the first few years of Hecate’s installment. The first months in particular had not been pleasant. And despite her inward promise not to overwhelm Hecate with emotion, made not ten seconds prior, she found her fingers trembling with the need to push forward. With the deep breath taken before the plunge, Ada summoned her courage. “And…as for all your perceived faults and eccentricities—I believe I quite adore them.”

Hecate looked up for the first time, her wide and wary eyes cautiously and meticulously taking in every nuance of the blonde’s expression. _What exactly do you mean, Ada?_

“You do?” She said, those two simple words requiring herculean effort to push from her currently-collapsed lungs.

“I do,” Ada nodded, her own stomach trembling at the confession. She watched the pale column of her deputy’s throat as she tried to swallow, as if digesting this new information. Hecate was impossibly still, like a rabbit contemplating its chance to bolt—but she wasn’t bolting. That last part gave Ada hope.

“You are one of the most amazing human beings I have ever had the privilege of knowing, Hecate Hardbroom,” she continued quietly. “And I wouldn’t wish you any other way than exactly as you are.”

Now there were tears simmering in Hecate’s eyes, and for once, she did not refute Ada's kind words.

“If,” her breath hitched, a sound so soft and tiny that it broke Ada’s heart with love all over again. “If I am ever half the witch that you believe me to be, then I shall have truly accomplished something good, indeed.”

Ada simply reached out, patting Hecate’s clasped hands in warm reassurance. _You’ve already accomplished so much, so much more than that, my love. Every word I’ve said is true, and yet they cannot truly contain all that I feel, all that you are._

Ada’s words, Ada’s face shining with absolute adoration, Ada’s hand resting warm and weighted upon hers, filled Hecate’s lungs with fire and hope. These were not the imaginings of a love-starved mind. These were real, these were signs.

Ada moved her hand away, and Hecate stifled a small cry of despair at the loss. She watched the blonde turn her face back to the early morning sun, a soft smile of contentment on her face, glasses reflecting the light. _She’s glad I’m staying. The look on her face, when she thought I was leaving—it means something, doesn’t it? It all means something, doesn’t it?_

Hecate bit her bottom lip, desire and fear warring in her chest like a volatile potion. So much hung on a moment, on a glance, on a word, on a simple question that could never be simply asked.

She thought of her moments with Max. Of all the things they’d done, all the things she’d wished to be doing with Ada instead. How did one bridge the gap between wishing and having?

She knew the answer, though she feared it. By simply doing it.

She didn’t have the courage. She was a coward, through and through. And yet…yet Ada looked at her as if she were a blue moon, a black pearl, a faerie ring. _You are one of the most amazing human beings I have ever had the privilege of knowing, Hecate Hardbroom._ She’d meant it, meant every word with every fiber of her being.

She could be brave, for Ada. Because Ada believed she could be. With a shallow breath, Hecate reached over, gently placing her hand over Ada’s, which rested on the bench between them.

Ada looked over at her, soft surprise in her blue eyes. Hecate couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear, couldn’t see anything but the face staring back at her, every flicker in those blue eyes either a lifeline or a death sentence.

And then Ada smiled. Hecate felt the hand beneath her own shift as Ada’s palm turned upwards, hand slipping further into Hecate’s as easily as a teacup into its saucer. Hecate glanced down, biting her lip as she found the courage to let her thumb brush over the ridges of Ada’s knuckles, a simple endearment that she’d imagined a thousand times. Ada’s skin was soft and warm, comforting and familiar while entirely novel.

Ada knew she was grinning like an idiot now, watching Hecate’s fascination over their hands. But honestly, she wanted to shout to the sky in joy—she’d been wrong, thinking that Hecate had not wanted more, and she had never been more ecstatic about making an error in her life. Now, looking at the soft wonder of her deputy’s expression, she wondered how she could have ever missed such a thing, and for how long. Hecate shifted slightly, ducking her head and facing towards the garden again, obviously trying to school her giddiness. It was utterly endearing.

She couldn’t push, couldn’t rush things, Ada knew. While she may have misread or just completely missed the signs before, she still knew Hecate. The brunette was still cautious, still one who needed time to move forward, time to adjust, time to find the courage to continue. Ada could be patient. Twelve hours ago, she’d never expected to get this far. Twelve minutes ago, she would have still considered it a very distant possibility, though not a certainty in the least. She could give Hecate time. She could give her anything she needed.

Hecate was still here. Staying here. Holding her hand, stroking her knuckles with light and distracted reverence, the same way Ada had seen her touch her timepiece a thousand times before.

It was enough. Wondrously, gloriously enough.

For now.


End file.
